{^^M gg 

;>;VOSANCElfj> 


^Aa3AiNn]WV 


-< 


H;OFCALIFO%        .-;,OF-CAIIF0%  .^WE.UNIVERV/; 


s^UIBRARYQ^^  ^W£•UNIVER5•/^ 


^(tfOJIlVOJO'^' 


o 


^.OFCALIFO/?^  ^\WE;UNIVERS/^ 


^>;10SANCEI% 


%a3AINn]WV 


o^lOSANCELfj> 

o  ^^^    " 


^^UIBRARYQ^^ 


^OFCAilFO/iU^ 


^riiiDNvsoi^"^     '^Aa]AiNn]WV^       ^^ox^nmi^ 


''AaaAiNajwv 


^^l•llBRARYQ/^        ^UIBRARYQr 


'^(1/ojnvjjo^     '^odiivjjo^ 


^WEUNIVERi-//, 


o 


vlOSANCElfj> 


''/^a^AiNfiiWV 


^OFCALIFO/?A^        ^0FCAIIF0% 


"^^Aiivaan-^^"^     '^•^okwmin'^ 


^\^E•UNIVERV/, 


o 


^<!/0JllVJJO'^ 


01    3^ 


^OFCAIIFO/?^ 


^OAavaaiH^ 


^.OFCA:iFnf?( 


o 


^lOSANG[lfj> 
o 


^^^tilBRARYQr 


^MEUNIVER5•//, 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2008  witii  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


o 


<^\mmoA^ 


^^^t•llBRARY6k 


^OdllVDJO'^ 


'^ 


^^T)|   Sh 


<rii30NV'> 


^OFCAllFOff/^^ 


^ 


^4^ 


OF 


^\*FHN|V[ 


JittJD://www.archive.org/details/cliildrensparadisOOzere 


^-^okmm\^ 


^■ 


"^ommy^'      ^uonvsoi^ 


I 

OF 


OM 


In  the  heart  of  an  aged  oak 
Once  dwelt  a  bewitching  fay. 


THE 


CHILDREN'S    PARADISE 


KATHARINE     B.     ZEREGA 


with    Illustrations 


BY 


LUCY     G .     MORSE 


NEW     YORK 
G.     P.     PUTNAM'S     SONS 

182    FIFTH    AVENUE 
1877 


Copyright, 

G.     P.     PUTNAM'S     SONS, 

1876. 


PREFACE. 


The  simple  stories  told  in  rhyme,  contained  in  this 
volume  are  principally  founded  upon  facts,  and  were 
recounted  originally  for  the  benefit  of  the  houseful  of 
boys  and  girls  whose  performances  are  portrayed  in 
the  '  Children's  Paradise.'  Their  earnest  approval  has 
emboldened  the  author  to  submit  them  to  the  public^ 
trusting  that  they  will  meet  abroad  with  some  slight 
share  of  the  favor  already  accorded  them  at  home. 


a.r%r%ci/i^ 


CONTENTS 


The  Children's  Paradise. 
Spring  vs.  Winter. 

The  Drvad    

One  Hundred  Dollars  Reward. 

Death  of  the  Mouse  (Sequel  to  the  foregoing) 

The  Forest  Fairy. 

Babv  Asleep. 

La  Matinee  Dansante. 

The  Coral  Tree. 

Dear  Santa  Claus. 

A  Comical  Come  Down. 

The  Origin  of  Rain    . 

The  Fairy  Isle    . 

The  Blue  Bird's  Song. 

The  Week  Before  Christ: 

Bonny  Blue-Bells. 

The  Midnight  Murder. 


.mas 


PACK 

3 

lO 

25 
29 

32 
34 
3S 
40 
47 
49 
52 
60 
61 
67 
69 
71 
75 


VI 


Contents. 


Thf.  Bear  and  the  Boy.    . 
The  Bird's  Farewell. 
The  Lilv  and  the  Violet. 
Almost  a  Catastrophe.    . 
The  Boy  and  the  Butterfly 
The  Gypsy  Girl  . 
The  Welcome  Visitor. 
Bertha's  Bonbonniere. 
The  Old  Man's  Dream. 
Cinderella   .... 


PAGE 

86 
88 
92 
100 
102 
107 
126 
144 
151 


THE   CHILDREN'S    PARADISE. 


THERE  is  an  Island  fair  and  green, 
No  sweeter  spot  was  ever  seen, 
Where  children  play 
The  livelong  day, 
And  gladly  greet  the  sun's  first  ray, 
This  isle  which  to  the  eastward  lies 
Is  called  the  Children's  Paradise. 

A  stately  mansion  built  of  stone 
In  lordlv  grandeur  stands  alone 

On  rising  ground, 

While  all  around 
Orchards  and  gardens  fair  abound, 


4  The    Childreiis   Paradise. 

The  lawn  slopes  down  on  either  side 
To  meet  the  coy  coquettish  tide. 


And  birds  delicious  songs  there  trill, 
The  air  with  melody  they  fill, 

Till  one  would  say 

That  every  day, 
They  celebrate  a  feast  so  gay. 
At  which  fireflies  assist  at  night 
And  flood  the  lawn  with  radiance  bright. 


Upon  a  strip  of  shining  sand 

Each  morn  a  busy  blithesome  band 

Display  their  skill 

With  earnest  will 
By  building  forts  and  castles,  till 


The    Childi'en's   Pai-adise. 

The  rising  tide  warns  them  to  fly 
And  shelter  seek  in  woods  near  by. 

And  now  in  truth  begins  their  fun, 
For,  shielded  from  the  noonday  sun, 

Such  pranks  they  play 

You'd  really  say 
Their  senses  all  had  flown  away  ; 
Wildly  they  scale  the  trees  and  rocks, 
Regardless  of  torn  hats  and  frocks. 

Weary  at  last,  and  grown  more  meek, 
The  poultry  yard  they  gladly  seek, 

And  fowls  thev  feed 

With  divers  seed. 
Just  as  they've  eaten  all  they  need, 
The  farmer's  wife  protests  in  vain, 
She  cannot  stop  them,  that  is  plain. 


6  The    Children  s    Paradise. 

Now  to  the  dairy  each  one  flies, 
And  there  secures  a  glorious  prize, 

A  brimming  glass 

They  quickly  pass, 
And  gayiy  drain  it,  lad  and  lass. 
While  pans  of  cream  so  yellow,  lo  1 
They  leave  as  blue  as  indigo. 

The  barn  they  visit  now  with  joy, 
And  there,  each  girl  and  romping  boy 

Roll  o'er  and  o'er 

The  spacious  floor, 
They  laugh,  they  scream,  they  shout,  they  roar, 
And  pelt  each  other  with  the  hay, 
While  burials  take  place  each  day. 

They  scarce  can  spare  the  time  to  dine, 
Although  their  appetites  are  fine, 


The    Childi'cii  s   Paradise. 

When  out  again, 

Adown  the  lane 
They  run  with  all  their  might  and  main, 
To  see  the  horses,  dogs,  and  cows, 
And  watch  the  farmer  as  he  ploughs. 

O'er  roads  so  charming,  oft  they  drive, 
And  fill  the  wagon  like  a  hi\'e, 

The  coachman  kind, 

Time  out  of  mind 
Has  loved  them  ;   and  can  always  find 
In  any  carriage,  large  or  small, 
Room  for  the  darlings,  one  and  all. 

But  when  there' comes  a  rainy  day. 
These  children  all  are  forced  to  stay 

In  doors,  and  then 

.\  thousand  men 
Make  n(j  more  racket,  even  wiien 


8  The    Children  s   Paradise. 

On  Gold  or  Stock  Exchange  they  bawl 
Within  a  lofty  frescoed  hall. 

They  chase  through  corridors  so  wide, 
Down  the  broad  bannisters  they  slide, 
They  skip,  they  prance, 
They  sing,  they  dance, 
Deafen  their  parents,  uncles,  aunts, 
All  of  whom  heave  a  thankful  sigh, 
When  bed-time  hour  draweth  nigh. 

I  think  I'll  scarcely  need  to  tell. 
For  by  this  time  you'll  know  it  well, 
What  monarchs  reign 
(Scarce  state  maintain) 
Upon  this  island  of  the  main 
None  but  grandparents  would  allow 
Such  escapades  so  oft,  I  trow. 


They  chase  throuj^h  corridors  so  wide, 
Down  the  broad  bannibters  they  slide. 


The    Children  s   Paradise. 

And  now  my  children ;  fare  you  well. 
Perhaps  some  day  (no  one  can  tell) 

If  you  are  good, 

(That's  understood) 
Well  hie  away  to  that  green  wood, 
And  you  will  open  wide  your  eyes 
To  see  the  CHILDREN'S  PARADISE. 


SPRING   vs.   WINTER. 

NOT  long  ago  and  gentle  Spring 
Lay  sleeping  in  the  shade, 
When  o'er  her  charming  countenance 
A  wand'ring  sunbeam  played. 

Then  suddenly,  she  started  up 
Exclaiming  in  surprise, 
"'  I  didn't  dream  it  was  so  late, 

Dear  me  !  how  Tempus  flies  !  " 

"  But  tardy  though  my  'wakening  be, 
ril  let  old  Winter  know 
His  reign  is  over  now,  and  he 
At  once  had  better  go." 


spring   vs.    Whiter.  1 1 

"  Strange  stories  I  have  heard  of  him 
Affecting  genial  ways, 
And  striving  to  deceive  mankind 
With  counterfeit  spring-days/' 

"  Till  mortals  grown  too  credulous 
Duped  by  unwonted  wiles, 
Threw  off  their  wintry  garb,  that  they 
Might  revel  in  his  smiles," 

"  Which  straightway  disappeared  in  frow  ns, 
While  with  demoniac  glee 
He  scourtred  the  shuddering  earth  with  stoinis. 
And  lashed  the  maddened  sea." 

"  Such  conduct  is  unworthy  of 
My  rough  but  honest  friend, 
I  think  that  I'll  suggest  to  him 
His  ways  he'd  better  mciul." 


12  The    Cliildreiis   Paradise. 

"  ril  go  and  call  upon  him  now, 
He  don't  suspect  I'm  near, 
And  armed  with  sunbeams  sure  and  swift, 
His  wrath  I  need  not  fear/' 

Her  vernal  robe's  disordered  folds 

She  re-arranged  with  care. 
And  twined  a  wreath  of  violets 

Amid  her  golden  hair. 

Then  over  all  she  threw  a  veil 

Of  softest  silv'ry  mist, 
Through  this  disguise,  she  gayly  cried, 
"  He'll  never  pierce,  I  wist." 

So  with  a  gay  and  lightsome  mien 
She  tripped  to  Winter's  door, 

And  in  a  low,  beseeching  tone 
Admittance  did  implore. 


Spring   vs.    Winter. 

"  Come  in,"  roared  Winter,  in  a  tone 
That  had  she  been  a  mortal 
Would  have  transformed  her  into  stone, 
Before  the  frozen  portal. 

But  fearlessly  our  saucy  Spring, 

Entered  the  drear  domain, 
W^hile  Winter  from  his  icy  throne 

Gazed  on  her  with  disdain. 

"  What  do  you  here,  oh,  maiden  rash  ?  " 
He  cried  in  stern  surprise, 
In  haste  she  flung  the  veil  away 
And  raised  her  beaming  eyes. 

While  from  their  sunny  gleaming  depths 

Shot  forth  two  rays  of  light. 
Which  straight  transformed  the  gloomy  hal 

Into  a  palace  bright. 


14  The    Children  s   Paradise. 

Old  Winter  trembled  on  his  throne 

Before  the  vision  gay, 
Then  slowly  sinking  'neath  her  glance, 

He  melted  quite  azvay. 


Olil    Winter   trembled   on   lii^  llnoiie 
JJefore   tlic   visiun  gay. 


.     THE    DRYAD. 

CLOSE,  close  by  my  window, 
A  cherry  tree  stands, 
Its  branches  wave  gently, 
Like  beckoning  hands. 
A  dear  little  dryad 

There  dwells  in  this  tree, 
And  she  whispers,  and  whispers. 
Sweet  stories  to  me. 

She's  a  gay  little  creature. 
All  clad  in  bright  green, 

A  figure  so  dainty 

There  never  was  seen. 


1 6  The    Childre7is   Paradise. 

A  rose-colored  girdle 

Confines  her  small  waist, 

Dame  Nature  has  dressed  her 
In  exquisite  taste. 

When  first  I  beheld  her, 
■    'Twas  one  summer  day. 
As  propped  by  soft  pillows. 

Aweary  I  lay. 
Ah  !  sad  seemed  my  destiny, 

Life,  full  of  grief. 
When  turning,  I  saw  her 

Swins;  forth  on  a  leaf. 

And  then,  in  response 
To  my  look  of  surprise, 

With  a  pitying  glance 
Of  her  dark  tender  eyes. 


The   Dryad. 

She  said,  "  I  have  watched  you 

For  many  an  hour, 
To  solace  your  sorrow 

Perchance  Tve  the  power." 

"  Thank  you  kindly,"'  said  I, 
For  her  clear  cheery  voice, 
Already  had  made 
My  spirit  rejoice. 
"  But  tell  me,  bright  being. 
Pray  how  came  you  here  .-* 
For  sure  you  were  nurtured 
In  some  remote  sphere  !" 

"  Earth  never  lias  moulded 
So  dainty  a  sprite  !  " 
But  she  cried,  laughing  gayiy, 
"  You've  not  guessed  aright, 


1 8  The    Children's   Paradise. 

This  tree  and  myself, 

To  her  owe  our  birth, 
We  were  both  of  us  nourished, 

By  kind  Mother  Earth." 

Enlightened  at  last, 

I  cried,  "  Ah  !  I  see. 
You're  a  dryad,  and  so 

Belong  to  the  tree. 
The  fame  of  your  race 

Has  been  chanted  in  story 
Till  a  halo  surrounds  you 

Of  mythical  glory." 

"  But  then  I  am  certain 
The  poets  have  told 
How  dryads  in  oak  trees 
Lived  always  of  old, 


The   Dryad,  19 


So  you'll  understand  then, 
It  seems  strange  to  me 

To  see  you  ensconced  here 
In  this  cherry  tree." 

"  Some  doubt  your  existence 
For  ages  have  flown, 
Since  one  of  your  race  has 
•  Conversed  with  our  own. 
And  so,  little  dryad. 

Oh  !  tell  me,  I  pray, 
Why  should  /,  above  all 
Be  honored  to-day  ? " 

"  rU  answer  your  question," 
She  then  made  reply, 

"  But  promise  me  first. 
Whenever  you  sigh. 


20  The    Children  s   Paradise. 

You'll  think  of  my  story, 

Perhaps  for  awhile 
'Twill  lighten  your  sorrows, 

And  cause  you  to  smile." 

"  The  poets,  (whom  all  of 

Our  race  do  adore), 
Have  rightly  described  us 

As  living  of  yore 
In  oak  trees  alone,  but — 

Fm  happy  to  say, 
With  such  stupid  customs 

We've  done  quite  away." 

"  And  know  ;  that  we  never 
Our  presence  reveal. 
Save  to  do  some  good  action, 
Some  sorrow  to  heal. 


The   Drvad.  21 


Now  many  there  are 

Scattered  over  the  land, 

Who  our  language,  alas  ! 
Cannot  understand." 

"Twould  be  of  no  use 

Before  them  to  appear. 
They'd  neither  be  able 

To  see,  or  to  hear. 
That's  the  reason  so  seldom 

You  ever  have  heard, 
Of  a  dryad,  with  man 

Exchanging  a  word." 

"  WeVe  endowed  with  an  instinct 
Unerring  and  true. 
As  to  whom  we  may  speak, 
And  I  instantly  knew 


2  2  The    Children  s   Paradise. 

When  I  saw  ji'<9?^r  sad  face 
That  you'd  comprehend 

My  words,  and  would  know 
They  were  those  of  a  friend." 

"  But  now  to  my  story — 

You'll  laugh  when  you  hear 
This  morn  I  completed 

My  one  hundredth  year. 
I  don't  doubt  you  think  it 

A  very  strange  thing, 
At  my  age,  to  be  able 

To  skip,  dance  and  sing !  " 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  the  secret } 
I  banish  dull   Care, 
No  matter  what  happens 
I  never  despair. 


The   Dryad.  23 


*Tis  worrying  makes 

Mortal's  hair  turn  so  gray, 
And  from  cheek  and  from  Hp 

Drives  the  roses  away." 

"  Bitter  thoughts  wring  the  Hfe 

From  each  healthful  limb, 
Plough  wrinkles,  and  cause 

Brilliant  eyes  to  grow  dim. 
Believe  what  I  tell  you, 

It  is  a  sure  sign 
You'll  never  grow  old,  if 

You  cease  to  repine." 

"You're  thinking  perhaps, 
'Tis  no  merit  in  me 
Not  to  murmur,  when  I've 
Such  a  home  as  this  tree, 


24  The    Childroi's   Paradise. 

But  within  fifty  years 

I've  been  known  twice  to  sigh, 
And  once,  I  was  tempted 

To  sit  down  and  cry." 

"  Twice,  the  sun  was  so  hot 

It  dried  up  each  cherry, 
And  I  couldnt  be  gay 

And  Hght-hearted  and  merry, 
When  I  thought  how  the  birds 

And  the  children  would  mourn 
The  loss  of  the  fruit. 

So  I  felt  quite  forlorn," 

"  Till  I  thought  to  myself. 
How  sinful  to  sicrh  ! 
Next  summer,  I'm  sure 
'Twill  not  be  so  dry, 


The   Dryad.  25 


The  fruit  will  taste  better 

For  such  a  long  fast, 
Oh  !  we  will  have  many 

A  royal  repast !  !  " 

'And  just  as  I  thought, 

It  really  proved  so, 
Next  summer's  sun  shone 

With  a  less  fervid  glow. 
The  fruit  in  rich  clusters 

Most  temptingly  hung ; 
The  children  rejoiced,  and 

The  birds  gayly  sung." 

"  Then  once.  Madam  Redbreast, 
(Who  lives  on  yon  bough,) 
Had  a  loss,  which  I  can't  bear 
To  think  of,  even  now. 


26  The    Childrens    Paradise. 

One  day  not  long  since 

A  cruel  boy  stole 
Her  nest  and  five  e 2:2:3. 

Do  you  think  he'd  a  soul  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  how  my  heart  ached 

For  the  poor  little  Mother  ! 
While  I  helped  her  to  build 

A  nest  like  the  other. 
Now  she's  five  pretty  eggs, 

(You  can  see  them  through  there) 
Like  me,  she's  determined, 

She  will  not  despair." 

"  Perhaps  you  imagine 
Pve  nothing  to  do  } 
You'd  change  your  opinion, 
If  only  you  knew 


The   Diyad.  2  7 

How  hard  I'm  at  work 

In  bright  summer  weather, 
Brushing  bugs  from  the  fruit, 

With  a  yellow-bird's  feather." 

"  And  then  when  the  cherries 

At  last  disappear, 
I  keep  the  leaves  fresh 

Till  they're  yellow  and  sere, 
So  when  Winter  comes  on 

I  am  ready  to  rest, 
Coiled  up  in  the  depths 

Of  a  robin's  old  nest." 

She  ceased — and  to  my  brow 

A  flush  of  shame  arose  ; 
As  I  thought  how  she  had  mourned, 

Only  over  olJiers  woes. 


28  TJic    Children's    Paradise. 

"  Thanks,  thanks  ! ''  I  cried,  "  dear  dryad, 
For  the  lesson  you  have  given, 
'Twill  nerve  me  for  life's  trials 
And  lead  me  home  to  heaven." 

Since  then  she  often  comes 

To  cheer  my  weary  days, 
And  talks  with  me,  or  sings 

Delicious  roundelays. 
And  as  fainter  grow  the  notes 

Of  some  dreamy  woodland  air, 
I  gently  fall  asleep, 

Within  my  easy  cliair. 


ONE    HUNDRED    DOLLARS    REWARD. 

I  "HERE  is  a  naughty  little  mouse 
-*-        That  every  sinole  nioht 

^  CD  O 

Scampers  about  our  nursery  floor 

And  gives  us  many  a  fright. 
Our  nice  wood-work  he  often  gnaws, 

He  stumbles  and  he  squeaks, 
And  oh  !   I  can't  de£-i?i  to  tell 

The  half  of  all  his  freaks. 
Now  Marguerite  (she  is  our  nurse) 

A  trap  did  once  prepare, 
And  then  with  nicely  toasted  cheese 

She  furnished  it  with  care, 
Then  placed  it  gently  on  the  hearth, 

Thinking  he'd  surely  bite. 


30  The    Childrcns    Paradise, 

Alas  !  wise  mousie's  movements  proved, 

She  did  not  guess  aright, 
For  when  the  clouds  of  night  dispersed 

And  in  the  early  morn, 
We  looked  to  see  the  poor  dead  mouse 

Behold  !   the  cheese  was  gone. 
There  stood  the  trap,  quite  safe  and  sound, 

But  minus  was  the  cheese, 
And  mouse  had  walked  off  with  his  prize 

Not  saying  if  you  please. 
Amazed  we  looked  around  the  room, 

Our  cheeks  were  pale  with  fear. 
Then  whispered  softly,  "  can  there  be 

A  fairy  hidden  here  ? 
For  who  has  ever  known  a  mouse 

Do  such  a  thing  before  ? 
But  then,  they  say  that  fairies  walk 

Upon  this  earth  no  more." 


One   Hmidred  Dollars   Reward.  31 

What  can  we  do  ?  pra}^  some  one  tell, 

To  rid  our  troubled  house 
Of  this  most  crafty,  greedy,  naughty, 

Noisy  httle  mouse  ? 
We've  tried  all  sorts  of  traps,  but  they 

Are  not  of  any  use, 
So  just  at  present  there  exists 

A  most  unwilling  truce, 
So  a  reward  we  offer  here 

To  anyone  who  will, 
Find  us  a  trap  to  catch  a  mouse 

That's  very  hard  to  kill.''' 


DEATH    OF   THE   MOUSE. 

(sequel  to  the  foregoing.) 

*''T"''HE  deed  is  done !  oh,  the  deed  is  done  !  " 
-^        Poor  Mousie  at  last  is  caught, 

That  he'd  never  be  really  and  truly  killed, 
We  really  and  trtily  thought. 

Now  Baby  said,  "  he  was  a  wise  mouse," 

And  that  was  the  reason,  perhaps 
For  a  long  time  he'd  not  once  come  near 

Our  grand  mechanical  traps." 


But  it  seems  he'd  only  grown  tired 
Of  feasting  on  toasted  cheese, 

He'd  eaten  it  often  at  parties, 
At  breakfasts,  dinners,  and  teas. 


Death    of  the   Mouse.  33 

Then  too,  although  we  ne'er  knew  it, 

What  he  dehghted  in  most, 
I'm  sure  you  will  hardly  believe  it, 

Why  it  was  hot  buttered  toast. 

So  his  palate  proved  traitor  to  him. 

For  our  nurse  last  night,  instead 
Of  baiting  the  trap  with  toasted  cheese. 

Did  substitute  toasted  bread. 

And  there  in  the  morning  we  found  him, 

A-lying  all  stark  and  cold. 
Luckless  victim  to  hot  buttered  toast, 

And  now,  my  story  is  told." 


THE   FOREST    FAIRY. 

T  N  the  heart  of  an  aged  oak 

-^      Once  dwelt  a  bewitching  fay. 

Who  danced  in  the  bright  moonhght, 

And  slumbered  throughout  the  day. 
Her  bed  was  of  soft  thistle  down, 

And  her  bath  was  a  drop  of  dew, 
Her  robe  was  a  gossamer  wing, 

And  a  tiny  shell  was  her  shoe. 
Full  oft  on  a  midsummer  night, 

When  high  rode  the  silvery  moon, 
From  the  topmost  branch  of  a  tree. 

She  would  sing  an  enchanting  tune, 
Till  the  birdlings  stirred  in  their  nests, 


The   Forest   Fairy. 

And  the  nightingale  paused  to  hear 
A  song,  far  surpassing  her  own, 

In  notes  so  exquisitely  clear. 
Then  swinging  from  bough  to  bough, 

She  would  dance  round  each  downy  nest. 
And  laugh  at  the  wondering  gaze 

Of  blue-bird,  or  robin  redbreast, 
Oft  a  squirrel  so  swift  she  would  mount, 

And  fast  through  the  air  as  she  flew, 
She  would  startle  the  woods  far  around. 

With  a  clear  ringing  hunter's  halloo. 

When  Jack  Frost  with  icy  finger. 

Turned  the  leaves  from  green  to  gold, 

Bidding  birds  not  long  to  linger 
In  their  Northern  nests  so  cold, 

Then  across  her  shoulders  shiv'ring, 
Caterjiillar  skins  sheVl  throw. 


36  The    Children  s    Paradise. 

Thus  protected,  without  quiv'ring 

She  could  brave  a  storm  or  snow. 
Often,  down  the  ice-clad  branches, 

While  the  stars  shone,  cold  and  bright, 
Swiftly  as  a  vessel  launches 

She  would  glide  on  wintry  night. 
But  when  Spring  returned,  so  blooming, 

Bringing  back  the  birds  and  flowers, 
AU  her  wonted  aii^s  resuming, 

Sprinkling  buds  with  silvery  showers, 
Then  our  fairy,  sweet  and  sunny. 

Friends  would  welcome,  old,  and  new, 
Spread  for  them  a  feast  of  honey. 

Drink  their  health  in  sparkling  dew. 
Stories  strange  the  birds  related 

Of  the  lands  far,  far  away, 
Till  her  woodland  life  she  hated, 

And  one  bright  autumnal  day, 


TJie    Forest    Fairy.  37 

With  her  feathered  friends  departed 
For  their  home  in  Southern  cHme, 

Promisinsr,  before  slie  started, 
She'd  return  by  summer  time. 

Years  have  passed,  and  the  forest  trees 

Have  vanished  from  off  the  earth, 
Some  formed  the  masts  to  stately  ships. 

Or  were  burned  on  the  ^lowing  hearth. 
Where  fountains  fall,  within  a  park 

The  ancient  oak  is  standing,  still, 
The  fairy  never  has  returned, 

Alas !  I  fear  she  never  ivill. 


BABY    ASLEEP. 

T7OLDED  the  tiny  hands, 
-^         As  if  in  prayer, 
While  myriad  angel  bands 
Guard  the  child  fair. 


Soft  swells  the  fragrant  breath, 

Fresh  as  a  rose, 
Proving  it  is  not  death, 

Hushed  in  repose. 

Mark  how  the  rosy  flush 
O'er  his  cheek  creeps, 

Bright  as  Aurora's  blush. 
Gently !  he  sleeps. 


Baby   Asleep.  39 


Then  let  the  zephyrs  fan 

His  downy  nest, 
What  can  be  sweeter  than 

Baby  at  rest? 


LA    MATINEE    DANSANTE. 

1\  /TISS  ISABELLE  Z— 

•^'^      Is  a  doll,  ires  jolie, 
Three  feet  is  her  wonderful  height, 

Complexion  bieii^  clair, 

Chataiii  dore,  her  hair. 
Her  beautiful  eyes,  brown  and  bright. 

As  she's  really  a  Belle, 

I  thought  T  would  tell 
Of  a  party  she  gave  not  long  since, 

It  was  quite  recherche, 

And  indeed  !   I  might  say 
Grand  enough  for  a  duke  or  a  prince. 


La   Matinee   Dansante.  41 

She  received  in  pure  white, 

Which  by  brilliant  gas  light 
Became  her  in  truth  !  a  mervcillc, 

Her  ornaments,  pearls ; 

Hair,  in  puffs  and  long  curls. 
Skirt  en  train  and  corsage,  decollette. 

La  blonde  Violette, 

(Mamma's  precious  pet,) 
Made  a  charming  appearance,  'tis  true. 

She  was  sweetly   arrayed 

In  a  dress  that  was  made 
Of  black  lace,  over  Indienne  blue. 

Next  came  Miss  Louise 
In  black  tnlle  and  cerise 
Dotted  over  with  tiny  gold  stars, 


42  The    Childreiis   Paradise. 

Her  coiffure  elegante 
Was  the  taste  of  her  tante 
But  her  toilette,  her  fond  grandmamma's. 

Miss  Lil}^  so  fair 

With  long  flaxen  hair, 
Wore  a  bright  yoWow  poult  de  sole  waist, 

With  a  skirt  of  de  laine 

Made  en  demi  train, 
Her  dearest  friends  murmured,  what  taste  ! ! 

• 

A  briofht  demoiselle 

Was  at  first  quite  a  belle. 
Although  she  appeared  known  by  none. 

Till  at  last  it  came  out 

With  an  ill  suppressed  shout, 
She  was  Suzanne,  the  children's  French  bon^ie! !! 


La   Matinee   Dansante.  43 

Then  there  was  Miss  West 

Most  gorgeously  drest, 
In  black  silk,  trimmed  with  lovely  diichcsse, 

Her  manners,  I  know. 

Were  not  quite  co77ime  il  faut 
As  all  by  and  by  will  confess. 

You  will  laugh  when  you  hear 

The  refreshments,  I  fear. 
But  the  chef  \\d.s  a  vounfr  amateitr 

And  'twas  his  first  essai, 

So  sincerely  I  pray 
Such  mistakes  not  again  will  occur. 

The  chief  dish  was  bouillon, 
Favored  by  the  haul  ton, 
But  'twas  made  of  pink  candy  and  water, 


44  TJie    Children  s   Paradise. 

And  though  good  the  intent, 
One  would  think  the  cook  meant 
The  poor  dolls'  digestions  to  slaughter. 

For  'twas  colored  with  green 

As  could  plainly  be  seen 
Of  a  bright,  intense  arsenic  hue, 

And  the  punch  was  so  strong 

That  'twas  not  very  long, 
Ere  to  Charlotte  West's  head  the  fumes  flew 

And  oh  !   shocking  to  tell, 

From  the  sofa  she  fell. 
Then  rising,  confused  all  the  dancers. 

By  plunging  about, 

Now  in  and  now  out, 
Partnerless  in  the  midst  of  the  Lancers. 


La   Matinee   Dansante.  45 

A  noise  in  the  hall 

Interrupted  the  ball, 
'Twas  the  chef  who  demanded  entree, 

He  had  drunk  his  own  punch 

By  way  of  a  lunch, 
And  alas!  it  had  made  him  quite  gay. 

When  Miss  West  he  espied. 

He  strode  to  her  side. 
And  requested  her  hand  for  the  waltz, 

Then  they  capered  away, 

'Twas  as  good  as  a  play. 
Poor  Isabelle  called  for  her  salts. 

Quite  shocked  was  each  guest 
Tho'  they  all  strove  their  best 
To  conceal  from  Miss  Belle  their  disdain, 


46  The    Childi^cns    Paradise. 

While  the  butler  so  stout, 
Carried  Charlotte  West  out, 
Vowing  punch  she  would  ne'er  touch  again. 

This  broke  up  the  fete. 

So  saying,  "  'twas  late," 
Each  guest  made  a  hasty  adieu, 

Believe  me,  my  friends 
While  this  history  ends 
Every  word  I  have  told  you  is  true. 


THE    CORAL   TREE. 

WHERE  sparkling  gems  and  rare, 
Beneath  the  blue  waves  he, 
An  insect  toils  with  care. 
While  centuries  roll  by. 
Striving  its  mission  to  fulfill 
By  working  out  its  Master's  will. 

Slowly,  the  branching  tree 
O'er  ocean's  depths  doth  rise, 

Soon,  on  the  broad  blue  sea 
A  fruitful  islet  lies. 

While  brilliant  birds  and  flowers  find  rest. 

Upon  its  peaceful  fragrant  breast. 


48  The    CJiildrciis   Paradise. 

Thus,  like  the  insect  small, 

Unwav'ring  in  its  zeal, 
Should  we^  with  patience  toil, 

Constant  for  others'  weal, 
Sure  that  the  Lord  at  lenorth  will  bless, 
Our  faithful  efforts  with  success. 


DEAR   SANTA   CLAUS. 

PERHAPS    you'll    th'ink    it    strange    that    I 
should  ever  dare  to  write 

What  I   would   like    for   Christmas,  but  I   think 
'tis  more  polite 

Than   shouting   up   the  chimney,  as  I've   heard 
that  others  do, 

I'm  almost  sure,  that  you  are  of  the  same  opin- 
ion too. 

You've  always  pleased  me  very  much,  in  every- 
thing you've  brought, 

It  really  seemed  as  if  you  knew  of  what  I  always 
thought, 

But  lest  there  should  be  some  mistake,  tJiis  time 
I'll  write  it  here 
3 


50  The    Childreiis   Paradise, 

And  then  there   need  not  be  upon  the   subject 

any  fear. 
I    want    a    pair    of    pigeons,    oh !     very    much 

indeed ! 
And  please  to  bring  them  in  a  cage,  with  cups 

all  full  of  seed. 
One  I  would  like  of  snowy  white,  the  other  grey 

(I  think,) 
But  both  their  little  eyes  and  feet  must  be   the 

brightest  pink. 
About  the  cage,  of  course  you  know  which  kind 

they  will  require, 
And  whether  'twould  be  better,  if  'twere  wooden 

or  of  wire, 
Such  details  I  won't  mention,  as  my  time  'twould 

only  waste. 
And  you  have  always  proved  yourself  a  gentle- 
man of  taste. 


Dear    Santa    Clans.  51 

My    sister    wants   a   pretty   doll   with    wardrobe 

quite  complete, 
From  latest  style  of  bonnet,  down  to  shoes  and 

stockings  neat. 
As  I  will  have  two  pigeons,  I  think  I'll  give  licr 

one, 
For  if  she  shares  them   with  me,  we'll  have  so 

much  more  fun. 
Now  if  you'll  only  bring  them,  111  very  gratelul 

be, 
And   prove   my    thanks   by   being   good.   Yours 

truly,  Dickie  Z. 


A    COMICAL    COME-DOWN. 

/^~\NE  bright  midsummer  afternoon, 
^-^      A  party  sallied  forth 
In  quest  of  some  adventure  ; 
Steering  their  barks  due  north. 

As  gayly  sailed  they  onward, 

A  cave  they  did  espv, 
Perched  on  a  mountain's  dizzy  height 

That  seemed  to  touch  the  sky. 

Said  one,  a  youth,  who  did  escort 

The  gay  and  errant  fair, 
To  climb  yon  steep  and  towering  cHff 

Which  one  of  you  will  dare  ?  " 


A    Comical    Come-Down. 

Then  out  spake  all  with  one  accord, 
"  Lead  on,  we  each  will  follow. 
Those  rocky  cliffs  we  do  disdain, 
We'll  skim  them  like  a  swallow." 

The  boat  is  moored,  the  party  starts. 
The  brave  youth  heads  the  van, 

(Clasped  in  his  arms,  an  infant  boy) 
He  seemed  almost  a  man. 

Their  dauntless  spirits  urge  them  on, 
Although  each  fair  one  feels, 

It  is  no  joke  to  clamber  up 

Steep  mountains,  in  French  heels. 

Shines  down  on  each  devoted  head 

The  cruel  piercing  sun, 
The  earth  gives  way,  the  briars  rend, 

They  find  it  is  no  fun. 


54  The    CJiildrens   Paradise. 

Now  as  they  faint  and  fainter  grow, 

A  dreadful  truth  doth  dawn 
Upon  each  mind,  causing  them  all 

Their  luckless  fate  to  mourn. 

For — while  the  placid  lake  recedes 

Matters  are  not  much  mended, 
Themore  they  climb,  the  more  they  seem 
"  'Twixt  heaven  and  earth  suspended." 

And  like  an  ignis  fatmis 

The  cruel  cave  doth  fly, 
For  while  they  climb,  it  really  seems 

Retreating  toward  the  sky. 

At  last,  spoke  one,  "  let's  all  return. 
For  though  we  climb  forever, 

We  ne'er  will  reach  yon  cave  though  each 
With  all  her  mi"ht  endeavor." 


A    Comical    Come-Down.  55 

Now  all  concurred  in  this  belief 

And  ail  approved  the  motion, 
But  how  they  should  descend  the  hill 

They  had,  alas!   no  notion. 

The  gallant  vouth  at  length  stood  forth, 
"  Now  each  shall  see,'^  he  said, 
The  question  quickly  solved,  or  else 
My  name,  it  isn't  Fred." 

With  his  right  hand  he  grasped  the  child 

And  held  him  high  in  air. 
Then  like  a  deer  he  bounded  down 

The  rocks  so  steep  and  bare. 

Then  horror  froze  the  lips  of  those 

Who  did  this  sight  behold. 
Ne'er  had  they  seen  a  deed  performed 

So  fearful  and  so  bold. 


56  The    Childrciis    Paradise. 

*'  Come  on,"  there  cried  a  voice  below, 
"  'Tis  nothing  when  you've  done  it, 
The  only  trouble  now  with  you 
Is,  that  you've  not  begun  it." 

"  He  lives,"  the  startled  sister  shrieked, 
"He  lives,  I  must  embrace 
The  precious  babe,  alas  !   I  feared 
No  more  I'd  see  his  face." 

Then  down  the  hill  she  quickly  fled 
Love  nerved  her  trembling  hands 

To  grasp  the  trees  to  break  her  fall 
Till  on  the  shore  she  stands. 

To  follow  her  the  others  strove, 
But  ah  !  they  strove  in  vain. 

For  coward  Fear,  with  iron  grip, 
Their  efforts  did  retain. 


A    Comical   Come-Down.  57 

"  Let's  join  our  hands,  and  close  our  eyes," 

One  of  the  party  cried, 
"And  at  a  given  signal  rush 

Adown  the  mountain  side." 

"'Twere  better  far  to  perish  thus. 
Than  cowardly  to  linger. 
And  be  a  mark  in  future  years 
For  every  scornful  finger." 

They  joined  their  hands,  they  closed  their  eyes. 

Then  made  one  gallant  dash, 
While  'round  them,  like  the  "  Licrht  Brio-ade," 

They  heard  a  constant  crash. 

Rocks,  roots,  and  branches,  all  gave  way 

Before  this  charge  so  bold, 
And  downward  with  a  deafenincr  roar 

In  swift  succession  rolled. 


58  The    Childrciis    Paradise. 

Yet  paused  they  not  for  stock  or  stone 

In  this  their  mad  career, 
Nor  conscious  seem  that  those  they've  left 
"  Are  maddening  in  the  rear/' 

Fragments  of  lace,  and  tresses  fair 

Are  fluttering  in  the  wind, 
From  every  bush,  for  all  have  left 

A  souvenir  behind. 

There  intervened  a  thicket  dense  ; 

The  hats — oh  !  where  were  they  ? 
Ask  of  the  thorns,  that  ruthlessly 

Have  torn  them  all  away. 

With  sash  and  scarf  and  streamer  brave 

That  well  had  borne  their  part, 
But  the  staunchest  things  that  perished  there 

Were  those  coaching  cJiapeaux  smart. 


Yet  paused  tlicy  not   for  stock  or  stone 
In   tlicir  mad  career. 


A    Comical    Come-Down.  59 

Breathless,  at  last  they  reach  the  goal, 
Some  lame,  some  bruised  and  sore, 

Gladly  they  leap  into  their  boats 
And  push  them  from  the  shore. 

And  so  doth  end  my  story  sad, 

The  moral's  here,  beside. 
Ne'er  boast  that  you  can  do  a  thing. 

Until  at  \^?i'i\.  yoiLve  tried. 


THE   ORIGIN    OF   RAIN. 

W  THEN  banished  from  the  garden  fair, 

•   ^        Our  parents  wound  their  way. 
Oppressed  with  grief,  and  worn  with  care. 
They  knelt  them  down  to  pray. 

Pure  angels  then,  from  heaven's  height 

The  sorrowing  ones  surveyed, 
And  weeping  vowed,  those  beings  bright, 

They  would  their  efforts  aid. 

Thus  ever  hov'ring  o'er  us  all, 
They  watch  and  ward  do  keep. 

And  when  the  pearly  rain  drops  fall, 
Know  then — //w  angels  weep. 


THE    FAIRY    ISLE. 

A  FAR  on  an  ocean  unknown, 
•^  ^  In  a  century  long  gone  by, 
Where  the  sun's  rays  brilliantly  shone, 

Nor  tempest  obscured  the  sky, 
There  lay  like  an  emerald  rare 

In  a  setting  of  pearly  foam, 
An  island  enchantingly  fair 

Where  fairies  had  made  their  home. 

Oh  !   from  many  a  distant  land 

Had  they  wandered  to  this  retreat, 

Now  a  loving  united  band 

Lived  they  ever  in  concord  sweet. 


/ 


62  The    Childrens   Paradise. 

For  the  spirits  which  ruled  in  the  air 
And  that  guided  each  elfin  mind, 

Were  Harmony  gentle  and  fair, 
And  Justice,  firm  ever  yet  kind. 

But  ah  !   in  each  Eden  there  lurks 

A  serpent,  and  so  near  the  isle 
Dwelt  a  demon  whose  horrible  works 

Were  dreaded  for  many  a  mile. 
His  power  was  great  and  all  knew 

If  once  he  set  foot  on  the  shore, 
Alas !  it  was  only  too  true 

That  Peace  they  would  know  nevermore. 

But  if  they  ne'er  strayed  from  the  isle, 
Nor  turned  to  his  counsels  an  ear, 

Unharmed  they  securely  could  smile, 
And  know  they  had  nothing  to  fear, 


The   Fairy   Isle.  6 

For  Discord  was  powerless  when 

They  turned  from  his  presence  to  fly, 

'Twas  but  when  they  hearkened  that  then 
Condemned  every  fairy  must  die. 


One  starry  summer  eve 

When  the  moon  shone  clearly  down, 
The  fays  their  queen  did  weave 

A  flowery  dew-decked  crown. 
And  on  her  pearly  brow 

As  'twas  placed  with  loving  care, 
They  sang  'neath  leafy  bough 

A  soft  melodious  air. 


•'  Oh  !  bright  as  the  sun 
Thou  beauteous  one 


J 


64  The    Children  s   Paradise. 

Is  thy  heavenly  glance, 
Ah  !  prithee  then  smile 
And  the  hours  beguile 

As  round  thee  we  dance." 

Scarce  had  the  words  been  sung. 

When  behold  a  fearful  cry 
Throughout  the  island  rung, 

And  re-echoed  to  the  sky. 
Terror  turned  each  cheek  pale, 

And  blanched  the  lips  of  each  fay, 
Silence  reigned  in  the  vale 

No  longer  was  heard  the  lay. 


Alas !  now  sounds  of  strife 

Showed  what  the  shriek  portended, 
All  knew  their  peaceful  life 

Unhappily  was  ended, 


The   Fairy   Isle.  65 

For  Discord  hovering  near 

Had  captured  some  of  their  band, 

And  his  awful  presence  so  drear 
Pervaded  the  happy  land. 

The  isle  rocked  to  and  fro, 

The  moon  withdrew  her  light, 
And  all  was  grief  and  woe, 

Where  once  it  was  gay  and  bright, 
Down  sank  they  'neath  the  wave. 

While  a  low  mournful  wail 
Echoed  through  coral  cave, 

Swept  by  on  the  passing  gale. 

Soft  zephyrs  breathe  no  more 

In  the  island  bleak  and  bare. 
Fierce  winds  sweep  o'er  the  shore 

And  all  is  dreary  there. 


66  The    CJiildreiis   Paradise. 

Where  Discord  dread  holds  sway 
The  sun  will  never  smile. 

Uncheered  by  moonlit  ray 
Is  now  the  fairy  isle. 


THE    BLUE    BIRD'S    SONG. 

I    COME  from  a  distant  sunny  land 
Where  zephyrs  ever  blow, 
And  flowers  bloom,  an  unbroken  band 
Untouched  by  frost  or  snow. 

Where  in  forests,  ever  with  verdure  crowned 

The  wild  lairds  chant  their  lay. 
Now  in  liquid  notes,  now  a  joyous  round, 

Throughout  the  livelong  day. 

Where  pendent  upon  the  lofty  trees 
Hang  fruits,  all  mellow  and  sweet, 

Which  are  tossed  afar  by  the  laughing  breeze. 
To  beauteous  maidens'  feet. 


68  The    Children  s   Paradise, 

Where  brooklets  gay  wind  their  onward  way, 

With  soft  melodious  flow, 
Reflecting  the  image  of  every  ray 

In  dimples  that  come  and  go. 

But  dearly  I  loved  my  Northern  home, 

Aye,  better  than  words  can  say, 
Although  dread  winter  had  bidden  me  roam 

Full  many  a  long,  long  day. 

So  once  again  in  the  rippling  brook 

I  laved  my  plumage  blue. 
Then  a  joyful  and  long  farewell  I  took 

And  back  to  the  North  I  flew. 

Now  my  heart  bounds  high  with  joy  to  see 

My  friends  of  the  year  before, 
Happy,  thrice  happy  indeed,  would  I  be 

Could  I  leave  them  nevermore. 


THE   WEEK    BEFORE    CHRISTMAS. 


/^^HRISTMAS  is  a  glorious  time, 
^ — '     Honored  oft  in  prose  and  rhyme 


But  no  poet  old  or  young 
Praises  of  the  week  has  sun<r 


» 


That  precedes  the  happy  day 
Set  apart  for  praise  and  play. 

Too  numerous  to  all  narrate 
Some  of  its  pleasures  Til  relate. 

Quickly  running  to  and   fro 
Through  the  crowded  streets  we  go ; 


yo  TJie    CJiildreii  s   Paradise. 

Now  In  this  store,  now  in  that, 
Choosinor  colors  for  a  mat. 

Spending  all  our  precious  store, 
Wishing  that  we  had  sotne  more. 

Buying  toys  of  every  kind 
To  amuse  the  infant  mind. 

Woolly  lamb,  and  life-like  cow. 
Dogs,  that  plainly  say,  "  bow-wow." 

Talking  dolls,  and  dollies  dancing, 
Dolls  on  horses  gayly  prancing. 

Then  our  parcels  home  we  take,. 
But  with  inward  fear  we  quake 

Lest  some  bright  inquiring  eye 
Bundles  stray  perchance  espy. 


The    Week   Before    Christmas. 

Faces  gay  and  faces  serious, 
Open  smiles,  and  smiles  mysterious 

Greet  us  now  on  every  side, 
Doors  no  longer  open  wide. 

Every  one  her  needle  plies 
While  each  happy  hour  flies ; 

Words  like  these  are  often  heard 
From  each  little  sewing-bird. 

"  Do  you  think  Aunt  Mary  knows 
What  Fm  making  for  her,  Rose  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  how  pleased  dear  Charlie  '11  be, 
When  these  slippers  he  will  see  !  " 

Then  the  dressing  of  the  Tree, 
Oh  !  delightful  mystery  ! 


72  The    Childreiis    Paradise. 

Box  and  bundle  every  size 
To  bewilder  infant  eyes ; 

In  the  parlor  vanish  all, 
Room  forbid  to  children  small. 

Expectation  on  tip-toe 
Through  the  week  we  gayly  go. 

And  as  Christmas  Eve  draws  neai- 
Parents,  friends  and  children  dear, 

Gleeful  girl  and  boisterous  boy 
With  their  hearts  brimful  of  joy, 

Cheerily  in  chorus  chime, 
"  We  have  had  a  happy  time  !  " 


BONNY   BLUE-BELLS. 


I 


N  shady  nooks 

By  running  brooks, 
Half  hid  in  mossv  dells, 
Sweet  flowers  grow, 
All  children  know, 
The  bonny  bright  blue-bells. 

On  mountains  high 

Beneath  a  sky 
Of  the  same  azure  hue, 

Each  year  they  spring 

And  gayly  ring, 
Those  bonny  bells  so  blue. 


When  savage  storms 
Assail  their  forms 


74  The    Children  s   Paradise. 

The  wind  their  death  foretells, 
But  though  they're  small 
They  never  fall, 

Those  bonny  brave  blue-bells. 

May  they  inspire 

Our  souls  to  hicjher 
Aims  than  they  ever  knew, 

Ere  'tis  too  late 

Let's  imitate 
Those  bonny  bells  so  blue. 

When  storms  so  dread 

Rage  overhead, 
And  loud  the  tempest  swells, 

Though  children  frail 

We'll  never  quail 
Like  bonny  brave  blue-bells. 


THE    MIDNIGHT    MURDER. 

^■\ /'ITHIN  a  fine  farm-yard 

^   '        Lived,  not  long-  ao^o, 
A  hen  and  three  chickens 

With  feathers  Hke  snow. 
They  were  graceful  and  pretty, 

And  tidy,  and  neat, 
From  the  crown  of  their  heads 

To  the  soles  of  their  feet. 

To  see  them  together 

In  truth  was  a  sight, 
In  which  the  good  farmer 

Did  greatly  delight. 


76  The    Children  s    Paradise. 

No  fowl  in  the  farm-yard, 
Would  ever  molest, 

Nor  snatch  e'en  a  crumb,  from 
This  family  blest. 

Each  day  they  would  wander 

In  search  of  their  food, 
Which  often  they  shared  with 

A  ravenous  brood. 
At  night  in  a  cottage. 

Securely  they'd  dream. 
Nor  wake  from  their  slumbers 

Till  mornincr's  first  beam. 


'& 


One  evening,  while  feasting 
On  supper  of  bread, 

The  youngest  chick  turned 
To  her  mother,  and  said, 


The   Midnight   Alurder.  77 

"  Don't  you  think  that  to-night 
We  might  roost  in  that  tree  ? 
Oh  !   if  you  would  let  us 
How  happy  Td  be  !  " 

"  You  know,  my  dear  daughter," 

The  mother  replied, 
"  No  wish  of  your  heart  have 
I  ever  denied. 
But  although  your  mind  on 

This  plan  appears  bent, 
I  fear  that  I  really 
Can  never  consent." 

"  Tm  told  that  fierce  creatures 
This  region  infest, 
And  we  will  be  safer 
At  home  in  our  nest. 


78  The    CJiildrcus   Paradise. 

Just  think!  my  own  darling 
How  dreadful  'twould  be, 

Should  an  enemy  lie 

Concealed  in  that  tree  !  " 

To  which  the  young  chicken 

Replied,  "  It's  no  use  ! ! ! 
I  see  you've  been  talking 

With  that  stupid  goose. 
She's  always  a  story 

Absurd  and  untrue. 
And  some  silly  notion 

Has  given  to  you." 

"  I'm  sure  there's  no  dano^er 
Up  there  on  that  bough, 
And  r?n  going  to  sleep  there 
To-night,  anyhow^ 


Then  calling  her  daughters 
Around  her  she  chose 

A  wide-spreading  bough 
For  their  place  of  repose. 


The   Midnight   Murder.  79 

For  if  I'm  a  chicken 

I'm  not  chicken-hearted,'''' 
Then  off  to  the  tree 

Like  lightning  she  darted. 

Of  course,  the  poor  mother 

Flew  after  her  child, 
'Twixt  sorrow  and  terror 

She  almost  was  wild. 
When  panting  she  reached  her 

She  touchingly  said, 
"  By  ji'^/^r  side  is  my  place. 

Where  you  sleep  is  my  bed." 

Then  calling  her  daughters 

Around  her,  she  chose 
A  wide-spreading  bough, 

For  their  place  of  repose, 


8o  The    Childrens   Paradise. 

But  many  an  hour 
Passed  wearily  by, 

Ere  one  of  the  family 
Closed  e'en  an  eye. 

'Twas  midnight — and  silence 

Reisrned  over  the  farm, 
And  the  sleep  of  the  poultry 

Was  peaceful  and  calm. 
When — all  of  a  sudden  1 

A  wild  fearful  scream 
Awakened  each  sleeper, 

Dissolved  every  dream. 

The  farmer's  wife  quickly 
Rose  up  in  her  bed, 
"  Such  shrieks,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  Would  awaken  the  dead. 


The   Midnizht  Murder.  8i 


^> 


Is  that  our  white  hen? 

And  where  can  she  be  ? 
The  sound  seems  to  come  from 

The  old  apple  tree." 

"  I  hope  the  poor  creature 

Has  not  roosted  there, 
For  a  horrid  old  rat, 

Has  made  it  his  lair. 
He  can't  injure  her 

But  her  chickens  he  might, 
Poor  thing!  she  must  be 

In  a  terrible  fright." 

Again  there  resounded 
Throughout  the  still  air, 

The  poor  bereaved  mother's 
Shrill  shrieks  of  despair. 

4* 


82  The    Childrens   Paradise, 

Alas  !  she  could  do  naught 

But  loudly  bewail, 
Her  strength  'gainst  a  fierce  raCs 

Could  nothing  prevail. 

And  so  the  young  chicken 

Was  dragged  to  her  fate, 
Repenting  her  conduct 

When  it  was  too  late. 
I  trust,  my  dear  children. 

This  history  may 
Prove  a  warning  to  those 

Whdd  fain  disobey. 


o 


THE    BEAR   AND    THE    BOY. 

N  a  mountain-top,  near  a  hotel  stood 

A   bear,  which   was   caught   in   a   neigh- 

bVing  wood. 
Tied  fast  to  a  tree  in  mild  or  fierce  weatlier, 
He  only  could  move  the  length  of  his  tether. 
Oft  silent  and  sad,  he  deeply  did  mourn 
When  he  thought  of  his  friends  from  whom  he'd 

been  torn, 
And  heartily  longed  once  again  for  a  chance 
To  indulge,  as  of  old  in  his  favorite  dance. 
As   he   mused   o'er   his   woes,  he   made    uj)   his 

mind 
He'd  have  his  revenge,  the  first  chance  he  could 

find. 


84  The    Childrens   Paradise. 

So  he  bided  his  time  till  one  luckless  day 

A  little  boy  came  out  with  Bruin  to  play. 

At  first  he  was  timid,  and  dared  not  draw  near, 

Till   at  length,  well   assured   he  had  nothing  to 

fear, 
He  went  up  to  Bruin  and  patted  his  head, 
"  Poor  bear !      I  am  sure  he   won't  hurt  me,"  he 

said. 
Ah  !  sadly  mistaken  was  our  little  boy, 
And  he  learned  when  too  late,  bears  he  should 

not  annoy. 
For   straight   on  his   feet    Bruin   rose   from   the 

ground. 
And    with    his    fore-paws    clasped    him    tightly 

around. 
While  with  a  fierce  grin,  the  bear  glared  in  his 

face. 
Close  and  closer  became  his  horrid  embrace. 


The   Bear   and   the   Boy.  85 

Then  loudly,  for  aid,  did  our  little  friend  cry, 
If  not  quickly  released,  he  surely  would  die. 
Help  happily  came,  ere  he  quite  lost  his  breath, 
Or  he'd  really  have  died  a  most  horrible  death. 
This  teaches  us  all  that  we  never  should  dare 
No  matter  how  gentle  he  sec7n,    touch  a  bear. 


THE    BIRD'S    FAREWELL. 

T  N  a  forest,  where  the  lofty  trees 

-*-      Adorned  with  foliage  gay, 

Were  merrily  tossed,  by  the  soft  breeze 

Afar,  in  joyous  play. 
Rung  the  rich  notes  of  many  a  bird 

That  warbled  a  blithesome  song. 
No  sweeter  notes  had  ever  been  heard 

That  happy  summer  long. 

For  they  were  singing  a  long  farewell, 

Were  bidding  an  adieu, 
To  each  dancing  brook  ;  each  mossy  dell, 

Ere  to  the  South  they  flew. 


The   Bij^d's   Farewell.  87 

Swallow  and  blue-bird,  linnet  and  jay, 

The  robin  and  meek  dove, 
Joined  in  the  carol,  that  bright,  bright  day, 

And  poured  forth  sounds  of  love. 

And  now  they've  plumed   them   for  their   long 
flight, 

Far  to  a  lovelier  land. 
While  the  cheerful  rays  of  the  sun  shine  bright 

On  that  happy,  happy  band. 
But  one  remains — 'tis  the  plaintive  thrush, 

To  sing  of  their  pleasures  past, 
Just  ready  to  fly  from  yon  low  bush. 

She  trills  her  song,  'tis  the  last. 


THE    LILY   AND    THE   VIOLET. 

\      LITTLE  child  one  morning  strayed 
^    ^^     Into  a  garden  wide, 
And  where  a  fountain  blithely  played 

Thither  she  quickly  hied. 
Then  bending  o'er  the  waters  clear 

She  laved  her  tiny  hands, 
And  watched  the  fish,  now  far,  now  near, 

Dart  o'er  the  golden  sands. 

While  thus  engaged,  a  gentle  voice 
She  heard,  distinct  though  low, 

Bidding  another  to  rejoice 
Whose  accents  were  of  woe. 


The   Lily   and  the    Violet.  89 

She  turned,  and  in  the  broad  sunHght 

Beheld  a  violet, 
And  a  lily  fair,  whose  petals  white 

With  tears  of  dew  were  wet. 

■  Cheer  up,"  the  first  voice  gently  said, 
"  And  drive  those  tears  away, 
Droop  not  so  low  that  lovely  head, 

Nor  sigh  the  livelong  day/' 
'  Alas  !  "  the  lily  made  reply, 
"  I  cannot  happy  be, 
So  much  I  fear  to  fade  and  die, 
Life  has  no  joys  for  me  ! !  " 

■'  Life  has  no  joys  !  I  oh  !  Lily  dear ! 
Say  not  those  words  again. 
Call  not  the  earth  a  desert  drear 
All  full  of  grief  and  pain, 


90  The    Children  s   Paradise. 

Brightly  the  sun  doth  shine  o'er  thee, 

Soft  breathes  the  gentle  wind, 
The  songsters  carol  joyously 

Of  God  ;  so  good  and  kind, 
And  when  at  last  we  fade  and  fall, 

'Tis  as  our  Maker  willed. 
Believe  ;   he  luill  not  us  recall 

Till  our  mission  be  fulfilled." 


Abashed  ;  the  lily  then  replied 
"  'Tis  as  you  say,  indeed  ! 
I  know  I  should  not  thus  have  sighed. 

And  will  thy  counsel  heed." 
So  then  her  tiny  bells  so  clear 

Gave  forth  a  joyful  sound. 
While  songsters  perched  on  branches  near 

Re"choed  it  around. 


The   Lily    and   the    Violet.  91 

Then  lowly  bent  the  little  child, 
And  with  uplifted  eye, 

In  supplicating  tones,  and  mild, 
Thus  prayed  to  God  on  high  : 
"  Dear  Father,  grant  I  ever  may- 
Attentive  prove  to  thee, 

And  that  I  strive,  each  passing  day 
A  violet  to  be." 


So  may  all  little  children  e'er 

Be  grateful  and  content. 
Assured  that  in  the  end,  they'll  ne'er 

Have  reason  to  repent. 


ALMOST   A   CATASTROPHE. 

/^H  !  listen,  children;  one  and  all, 
^-^      And  a  story  strange  I'll  tell 
About  a  cat,  that  years  ago 
In  Ireland  old  did  dwell. 


A  pleasant  home  our  heroine  had. 

Her  master  was  gentle  and  kind, 
She  dreamed  away  each  sunny  day. 

Contented  in  body  and  mind. 
But  at  last,  arose  o'er  her  life 

A  cloud  of  most  ominous  gloom, 
One  day  she  o'erheard  him  exclaim, 

"  For  Puss  there  no  longer  is  room, 


Almost   a    Catastrophe.  93 

Besides  she  has  now  grown  so  old 

She  is  of  no  use  any  more, 
Though  rats  and  mice  ravage  the  house 

She  never  e'en  raises  a  paw, 
I  think  that  Dl  give  her  away, 

I've  a  friend  who  wishes  to  own 
A  cat,  so  I'll  generous  be. 

And  thus  'kill  two  birds  with  one  stone.'" 
The  very  next  day  off  he  walked 

With  poor  Pussie  under  his  arm. 
And  gave  her  away  to  a  man 

Who  lived  on  a  neighboring  farm. 
Then  quite  relieved  homeward  he  trudged. 

But  what  was  his  horror  to  find 
Stretched  out  by  the  door  as  of  old 

The  cat  he  had  just  left  behind  !  !  ! 
'•  Ha,  ha!  "  he  exclaimed,  "  Mrs.  Puss, 

I  left  you  too  near  your  old  home. 


94  ^/^^    CJiildi'ciis    Paradise. 

Next  time,  I'll  take  you  off  farther 

Or  backward  again  you  may  roam." 
And  so,  having  made  up  his  mind, 

His  plan  he  matured  the  next  day, 
By  packing  her  off  to  his  cousin, 

Whose  home  was  some  ten  miles  away. 
That  night  was  his  sleep  undisturbed 

By  dreams  of  a  troublesome  cat, 
Next  morn,  he  awoke,  rubbed  his  eyes — 

By  his  bedside,  there  Picssie  sat. 
She  was  wet,  she  was  tired,  and  cold. 

Poor  thing !  !  she  had  journeyed  all  night, 
I  do  not  believe  you  e'er  saw 

A  cat  in  so  sorry  a  plight ; 
Enraged,  then  he  loudly  exclaimed, 

"  You  think  you  may  thus  thwart  my  will  } 
I  tell  you  I'm  not  to  be  baulked. 

In  my  head  I've  another  plan  still." 


Almost   a    Catastrophe.  95 

So  straightway  a  sack  he  procured, 

Pushed  her  in,  and  sewed  her  up  tight. 
The  poor  thing  was  quite  overcome, 

She  never  was  in  sucli  a  fright. 
Then  down  to  the  river  he  ran. 

Threw  the  sack  afar  from  the  shore. 
And  as  he  turned  backward,  he  said, 

'■'■  Noiu  Puss  can  disturb  me  no  more." 
Arrived  at  his  home,  he  sat  down 

In  his  chair,  and  quite  out  of  breath, 
He  began  to  relate  to  his  wife 

The  story  of  poor  Pussie's  death. 
When  all  of  a  sudden!   he  paused — 

Tn  the  midst  of  the  thrilling  tale, 
For  plainly  outside  of  the  door. 

He  could  hear — a  Iou>,  monrufiil  wail. 
O'ercome  with  amazement  and  fear. 

All  trembling  he  went  to  the  door, 


96  The    Childreiis   Pai^adise. 

Turned  the  latch,  then  quickly  stepped  back, 

For  there  the  poor  di'-owned  cat  he  saw. 
She  was  shiv'rhig  in  every  limb, 

Wild,  hollow,  and  fierce  was  her  eye. 
While  undaunted,  her  mien  did  maintain 

Do  w^hat  you  may,  I  ivill  not  die. 
Relentless  he  cried,  "  ah  !   I  see, 

I  forgot  to  put  stones  in  your  sack. 
Well!  since  you've  returned  without  leave 

Just  make  up  your  mind  '10  go  backT 
So  without  any  further  ado. 

He  fills  half  a  sack  with  huge  stones. 
Then,  in  spite  of  her  cries,  thrusts  her  in, 

Rescardless  of  feeling's  or  bones. 
This  time,  from  a  very  high  bridge 

His  victim  he  cruelly  threw, 
And  watched  till  she  sank  'neath  the  waves, 

Ere  from  the  sad  spot,  he  withdrew. 


Almost   a    Catasti^ophe.  97 

Now  homeward  retracing  his  steps, 

He  almost  began  to  regret 
His  cat,  that  had  proved  so  attached 

To  her  home,  and  had  once  been  his  pet. 
While  musing  on  her  mournful  fate, 

Conceive  if  you  can,  his  surprise 
To  see  the  cat  race  by  his  side. 

He  scarce  could  believe  his  own  eyes. 
"  She  ran  with  wild  speed,''  till  she  reachecj 

Once  again  the  beloved  old  door. 
When  panting  at  length  Jie  came  up, 

She  was  quietly  licking  her  paiu. 
Now  as  I  have  stated  before, 

He'd  already  begun  to  relent. 
In  his  heart  of  hearts  I'm  very  sure, 

He'd  even  begun  to  repent. 
But  man-like  he  ne\er  would  own. 

He  ever  had  been  in  the  wrong. 
5 


98  The    Childreiis   Paradise, 

His  sentence  he  would  not  revoke, 

Although  the  temptation  was  strong. 
So  quickly,  a  bag  he  obtains 

Made  of  the  strongest  of  leather. 
For  many  years  it  had  withstood 

Alike  the  wind  and  the  weather. 
Then  tying  it  up  with  a  cargo 

Of  stones,  and  his  innocent  cat. 
He  said,  "I  will  let  you  go  free, 

If  you  should  escape,  after  that. 
To  the  river  thus  laden  he  ran, 

The  bag  in  the  midst  of  it  heaves. 
The  river  which  seldom  gives  back, 

What  alas  !  it  so  often  receives. 
Then  behind  the  huge  trunk  of  a  tree 

All  eager  he  hidden  did  stand, 
Watching,  saw  Puss  arise  from  the  waves. 

And  quickly  regain  the  dry  land. 


Almost   a    Catastj-opJie.  99 

Then  catching  the  cat  in  his  arms, 

He  vowed  that  his  word  he  would  keep, 
And  that  till  she  died,  'neath  his  roof 

In  peace,  she  should  cat.  drink,  and  sleep. 
And  so  he  kept  true  to  his  word. 

And  back  to  her  old  home  did  bring  her. 
And  never  as'ain  turned  her  out, 

Or  into  a  river  did  fling  her. 


THE    BOY   AND    THE    BUTTERFLY. 

[FROM   THE   GERMAN.] 

(Boy.) 

"  T3UTTERFLY,oh  little  creature! 
-^-^      Idly  floating  in  the  air, 
Tell  me  how  you  gain  your  living, 
What  supplies  your  daily  fare  ?  " 

(Butterfly.) 

"  Breath  of  flowers 

And  bright  sunshine, 
It  is  on  these 
I  daily  dine." 


The    Boy    and   the   BiittcrJIy.  lOi 

Ardently  the  wond'ring  boy 
Longs  for  such  a  brilliant  toy, 
Quickly  in  pursuit  he  flies 
To  secure  the  precious  prize, 
But  it  begs,  in  tones  of  woe, 
"  Darling  boy,  oh  !  do  not  so, 
Let  me  in  the  sunshine  go. 
For  ere  the  morning  light  is  shed, 
I  shall,  alas  !  lie  cold  and  dead.'' 


THE    GYPSY    GIRL. 

TWAS  in  a  forest  where  the  trees  so  green 
Arched  over   and   concealed    the   varied 
scene 
Of  ocean,  river  and  of  bus}^  town, 
And  the  sun's  rays  that  poured  in  fury  down, 

Stood  a  young  maiden  who  with  eager  eye 
Upward  did  gaze  to  the  unclouded  sky 
As  if  to  pierce  that  deep  cerulean  dome. 
Longing  for  life  beyond  ;  a  heavenly  home  ! 

Fair  were  the  features  of  the  gypsy  girl 
'Scaped  from  its  fillet  wandered  many  a  curl, 


The    Gypsy    Girl.  103 

And  fell  in  clusters  blacker  than  the  night 
Upon  a  neck  as  purest  parian  white. 

And  straight  her  form   enwrapped  in  heavy  fold 
Of  crimson  cloth,  enriched  with  shining  gold, 
While  from  beneath  her  robe  could  just  be  seen 
Two  tiny  feet  half  hid  'neath  mosses  green. 

But  oh  !   a  troubled  look  this  beauteous  day 
Clouded  the  face  which  should  have  been  so  gay, 
Tears  all  unbidden,  dimmed  her  brilliant  eve, 
While  to  her  lip  rose  the  too-frequent  sigh. 

Now  wafted  hither  by  the  morning  breeze 
Which  wand'reth  sportively  amid  the  trees, 
Is  heard  the  ringing  tramp  (jf  horsemen  gay, 
As  cheerfully  they  wend  their  onward  way. 


I04  The    Children's   Paradise. 

Dimly  she  doth  discern,  through  leafy  bough 
The  foremost  of  the  band  advancing  now, 
Startled,  she  lendeth  an  attentive  ear. 
For  these  sad  words  distinctly  she  can  hear, 

"Sweetly  doth  each  songster  its  carol  trill, 
Softly  fall  the  waters  of  the  sparkling  rill. 
But,  alas!  their  music  cannot  joy  impart 
To  a  sad  existence,  and  a  broken  heart.'' 

"  For  severed  from  my  own,  my  precious  child, 
I  cannot  quell  emotions  fierce  and  wild, 
Without  my  darling,  all  alas !  is  drear. 
E'en  Nature  faileth  my  sad  soul  to  cheer." 

"  Alas  !  alas  !   Fll  ne'er  forget  the  day 

When  from  my  arms  my  child  was  torn  away, 


The    Gypsy    Girl.  105 

Ah  !  when  ye  stole  my  daughter,  cruel  men  ! 
Why  killed  ye  not  her  wretched  father  then  ?  " 

Upon  the  gypsy  maiden's  heart  each  word 
Vibrated  tenderly,  as  'twere  a  chord 
Of  distant  music,  heard  in  bygone  years, 
The  mem'ry  of  which  loathed  her  face  in  tears. 

And  hasten,  for  she  droopeth  like  a  reed, 
From    her    bright    face,   swift    doth    the    blood 

recede. 
She's  fallen  like  a  statue,  cold  and  still ; 
Alas!  that  joy,  Hke  sorrow,  oft  should  kill. 

'Tis  but  an  instant — she  reviveth  now. 
And  wildly  presseth  with  her  hands  her  brow, 
Then  struggling  suddenly  ujjon  her  feet. 
She  rusheth  forth,  the  rider  quick  to  greet. 


To6  The    Children  s    Paradise. 

For  oh  !  she  seeth  once  again,  a  face 

Which   from   her    heart,  long    years   could    not 

erase, 
And  cries  of  rapture  through  the  forest  ring, 
As  from  his  horse,  the  rider  quick  doth  spring. 

Right  joyfully  the  maid  he  doth  embrace, 
While  grateful  tears  adown  his  bronzed  cheek 

chase, 
llie  father  with  delight  is  almost  wild, 
To  find  the  gypsy  is  his  long  lost  child. 

No  longer  doth  the  maid  in  sorrow  weep, 
No  more  do  visions  dark  disturb  her  sleep, 
But  every  day  with  happiness  is  rife. 
And  nothing  marreth  now,  the  gypsy's  life. 


THE   \VELCO:sIE   VISITOR. 

LONG  ago  once  in  Vienna, 
When  the  earliest  morning  beam 
Touched  the  turrets  and  tlie  steeples, 

Bidding  sleepers  cease  to  dream, 
Walked  a  man  whose  noble  figure 
Lordlier  than  his  dress  did  seem. 

All  absorbed  in  thought  he  wandered. 
Noting  naught  that  passed  around, 

With  his  mantle  wrapped  about  him, 
And  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground, 

Planning  changes  full  of  imi)c)rt 
Suddenly — he  heard  a  sound. 


io8  The    Children  s   Paradise. 

Looking  up,  he  saw  before  him 

A  sad  Httle  figure  stand, 
'Twas  a  boy,  who  blushed  and  trembled 

Stretching  out  a  timid  hand, 
Overcome  with  shame  and  anguish, 

Charity,  he  did  demand. 

Bitter,  bitter  tears  were  flowing 
Down  the  wan  and  wasted  cheek, 

Drowning  all  the  light  of  childhood 
In  his  blue  eyes  large  and  meek. 

Touched  with  pity,  thus  the  stranger 
To  the  little  child  did  speak. 

"You  have  not  the  air  of  others 

Who  are  used  to  asking  aid. 
Will  you  tell  me  all  your  troubles 


The    Welcome    Visitor.  109 

Little  one?  be  not  afraid," 
Tenderly  he  spake  unto  him, 
On  his  head  his  hand  he  laid. 


Falteringly  the  boy  then  answered, 
"  You  are  right  dear  sir,"  he  said, 

"  For  I  was  not  born  a  beggar 
Poorly  clad  and  illy  fed, 

Riches  once  were  lavished  on  nie. 
But  alas  !  they  all  are  fled." 

"  My  poor  father's  great  misfortunes 
And  my  mother's  sickness  sore, 

Have  compelled  their  child  so  cherished 
Strangers'  succor  to  implore. 

But  however  pressed  by  famine 
I  have  never  begged  before." 


I  lO  The    Childreiis    Paradise. 

While  he  spoke  the  stranger  noted 

His  refined  and  noble  air, 
For  his  coarse  and  scanty  garments 

Could  not  hide  his  beauty  rare  : 
Bending  down,  he  gently  murmured, 

"  Little  friend,  do  not  despair." 

"  Tell  me  pray  who  is  thy  father?  '* 

Tearfully  the  boy  replied, 
"  He  was  once  a  wealthy  merchant. 

But  alas  !  sir,  he  relied 
On  a  friend,  who  stole  his  money — 

Then  he  sickened,  drooped,  and  died." 

"  Sorrows,  say  they,  ne'er  com.e  single, 

My  poor  mother's  health  declined. 
Though  she  strove  to  keep  it  from  me, 


The    Welcotue    Visitor.  1 1 1 

And  she  never  once  repined ; 
Ah  !  sir,  if  you  only  knew  her, 
She's  so  lovely,  good,  and  kind  !  " 

"  But  at  last  her  strength  has  failed  her, 

And  for  many  a  weary  day. 
In  her  wretched  bed  she's  languished, 

While  life  slowly  ebbs  away ; 
In  our  home  so  dark  and  dreary, 

Hope  has  ceased  to  shed  a  ray." 

"  All  last  night  she  moaned  in  anguish, 
And  I  feared  that  ere  the  morn 

Pain  and  hunger  would  have  killed  her, 
So  when  day  began  to  dawn, 

I  stole  forth  to  seek  assistance 
Ere  away  she  should  be   torn." 


112  The    Children  s   Paradise. 

"When  I  saw  you,  though  a  stranger, 
Something  drew  me  to  your  side, 

Once  or  twice  to  speak  to  others 
I,  alas  !  had  vainly  tried, 

But  your  kind  and  gentle  presence 
Helped  me  to  subdue  my  pride." 

"Ah!  have  mercy  on  my  mother 
Or  I  fear  that  she  will  die  ! " 

Sobbed  the  child  ;   bright  tears  of  pity 
Gleamed  within  the  stranger's  eye. 

"  Do  not  weep,"  said  he,  "  but  tell  me 
Does  your  mother  live  near  by  .'' '' 

"  In  the  garret  of  an  old  house 

You  can  see  by  yonder  square." 
"  And  have  you  not  sought  a  doctor  }  " 


The    Welco7ne    Visitor.  1 1 

"  Ah  !  sir  I  was  going  there, 
But  alas  !   I  cannot  pay  him/' 

"  Fear  not,  that  shall  be  my  care." 

Saying  this,  he  gave  some  florins 
To  the  boy,  and  bade  him  go 

Instantly  for  a  physician, 
To  relieve  his  mother's  woe. 

Thanking  him,  the  boy  sped  swiftly, 
Like  an  arrow  from  the  bow. 

Then  our  hero,  unlike  others, 

Not  content  with  what  he'd  done, 

Now  resolved  to  sec  the  mother 
Of  so  lovable  a  son  ; 

For  the  boy's  sweet  face  and  manner 
Had  his  heart  completely  won. 


114  The    Children's   Paradise. 

Acting  quickly  on  his  impulse, 
A  few  minutes  found  him  there 

In  the  house  the  boy  had  shown  him, 
Climbing  up  the  shattered  stair, 

Then  the  door  he  softly  opened, 
Gently  closing  it  with  care. 

On  this  room  so  poor  and  barren, 

Poverty  had  set  its  seal, 
And  in  every  scanty  detail 

Plainly  did  itself  reveal. 
Failed  the  "  widow's  cruse  of  oil," 

Empty  now  "  the  bag  of  meal," 

Then  across  the  room  the  stranger. 

Walked  with  slow  and  cautious  tread, 
Toward  the  scarcely  breathing  creature 


The    Welcome    Visitor.  1 1 5 

Stretched  upon  a  broken  bed. 
Horror  stricken,  low  he   murmured, 
"  Can  it  be  that  she  is  dead  ? " 


At  the  sound  of  these  soft  accents 

Slowly  opened  the  blue  eyes. 
Resting  on  the  unknown  figure 

Languidly,  in  faint  surprise, 
Like  her  son's  their  hue  seemed  borrowed 

From  the  soft  Italian  skies. 

Young  in  years,  but  old  in  anguish 
Seemed  the  pale  and  piteous  face. 

But  the  high-bred  lovely  features 
Still  retained  a  winning  grace, 

Which  the  heavy  hand  of  sorrow 
Could  not  totally  erase. 


ii6  The    Children s   Paradise. 

O'er  her  couch,  the  stranger  stooping, 
Murmured  kindly  words  of  cheer, 

Tellins:  her  he  was  a  doctor 

And  that  now  she  need  not  fear, 

He  could  cure  her  he  was  certain. 
Then  he  dashed  away  a  tear. 

Sishinor,  thus  she  faintlv  answered, 
"  Useless  ^low  your  healing  art, 

Death  hath  warned  me,  and  I  feel  it, 
Soul  and  body  soon  must  part, 

I  am  dying,  slowly,  surely, 
Dying  of  a  broken  heart." 

"  Ah  !  think  not  that  I  would  linger 

On  this  earth  another  day, 
Gladly  would  I  hail  the  moment 


The    Welcome    Vis i to?'.  1 1 7 

That  should  bear  my  soul  away, 
But  my  boy  !  my  precious  darling  ! 
For  his  sake  I  fain  would  stay." 

"  Oh  !   could  I  but  waft  him  with  me, 
From  this  world  of  sin  and  care  ! 

Where  the  wicked  dig  their  pitfalls 
Youthful  footsteps  to  ensnare. 

But  to  leave  him  unprotected, 

Fills  my  soul  with  dark  despair  ! " 

Here,  her  voice  grew  faint  and  broken 
And  the  stranger  turned  to  hide 

His  emotion,  as  he  gently 

BcGffred  her  in  him  to  confide, 

"  rU  befriend  your  boy,"  he  promised, 
"  Never  fear,  whatever  betide." 


Ii8  The    Childrejis   Paradise, 

•'  But  indeed  !  with  God's  assistance, 
I  will  cure  you  soon,"  said  he, 

"  And  rU  leave  you  a  prescription, 
'Twill  relieve  you   instantly, 

Soon  from  all  your  pressing  troubles 
It  will  quickly  set  you  free." 

While  the  widow,  struck  with  wonder. 
Thanked  him  with  a  grateful  look, 

Several  lines  he  quickly  penciled 
On  a  leaf  torn  from  a  book. 

Bidding  her  to  trust  in  Heaven, 
His  departure  then  he  took. 

But  his  bright  and  cheerful  presence 

Had  dispersed  the  heavy  gloom, 
Which  before  his  happy  coming 


The    Welcome    Visitor.  1 1 9 

Overhung  the  dreary  room  ; 
Death  no  longer  seenied  to  haunt  it, 
Like  a  cold  and  cheerless  tomb. 


Scarcely  had  his  parting  footfall 
Ceased  to  echo  in  the  ear, 

When  the  boy  returned  all  breathless 
Crying  out,  "  Oh  !    Mother  dear, 

I  have  news  that  will  revive  you. 
And  your  wounded  spirits  cheer." 

"  God,  who  from  his  throne  in  heaven 

Listens  to  the  raven's  cry, 
Watches  o'er  us,  and  he  will  not 

Let  my  darling  mother  die. 
Such  a  kind,  kind  friend  he  sent  me 

But  I'll  tell  you  by  and  by  ;  " 


I  20  The    Children  s   Paradise. 

"  For  the  doctor  now  is  coming 
He's  but  a  few  steps  behind, 

When  he  saw  I  grew  impatient 
Then  he  said,  '  oh,  never  mind  ! 

Run  on,  and  prepare  your  mother 
And  the  way  alone  I'll  find.'" 

'  Ah  !  my  son,"  exclaimed  his  mother, 
"  I  have  news  to  tell  you  too. 

As  I  lay  here,  faint  and  lonely, 
Came  a  doctor,  good,  and  true. 

On  my  heart  so  bruised  and  broken, 
Fell  his  words  like  healins^  dew." 


"  There  upon  a  table  lying 

His  prescription  you  will  see, 
Read  it,  and  perhaps  'twill  tell  us 


The    Welcome    Visitor.  1 2 1 


What  physician  he  may  be. 
If  I  do  mistake  not  greatly 
He  is  one  of  high  degree." 


O'er  the  Hnes,  the  boy  glanced  quickly, 

Stupefied,  began  again, 
Wond'ring  if  the  morn's  adventures 

Had  obscured  his  childish  brain, 
Till  a  cry  of  great  amazement 

He  no  longer  could  contain. 

"What  is  this  I  see.-*  my  mother. 
Surely  I  misunderstand, 

Ah  !  pray  read  it,"  and  the  paper 
Thrust  he  in  her  trembling  hand. 

Sorely  startled,  then  the  widow- 
Rapidly  the  letter  scanned. 
6 


122  The    Childreiis    Paradise. 

"  'Tis  the  emperor,  oh,  heaven  ! " 

Cried  she,  uttering  his  name; 
Backward  fell  she  on  the  pillow, 

While  a  tremor  shook  her  frame. 
Fled  the  life-tide  to  its  sources. 

Cold  as  marble  she  became. 

Fortunately  the  physician 

Now  arrived,  and  soon  his  skill 

Did  revive  the  fainting  widow, 
When  her  eyes  began  to  fill, 

Low  she  murmured,  "dear  Lord,  henceforth 
Bow  I  blindly  to  thy   will." 

"  Ah  forgive  thy  sinful  servant 
Who  against  thee  did  rebel, 
Quite  foroettinfj  that  the  future 


The    Welcome    Visitoi'. 

Thou,  thou  only  canst  foretell, 
Thou  who  healest  all  our  sorrows, 
Thou,  who  doest  all  things  well." 

"  Come,  my  boy,  and  kneel  beside  me, 
Beg  the  gracious  Lord  to  send 

Blessings  down  on  Joseph  Second, 
Who  the  widow  did  befriend, 

And  to  bless  her  humble  dwelling 
Cheerfully  did  condescend." 

Much  the  new  physician  marvelled, 
Scarcely  deemed  it  could  be  true 

That  the  emperor  had  been  there, 
But  his  wonder  greater  grew 

When  the  magical  prescriptimt 
He  had  read  completely  through. 


124  The    Chiidj^eiis   Paradise. 

'Twas  an  order  for  some  money 
And  charge  to  the  account 

Of  the  emperor,  and  truly 
'Twas  no  pitiful  amount. 

Now  there  is  but  Httle  left  me 
Of  my  story  to  recount. 

As  the  widow's  sickness  only 
Was  the  fruit  of  want  and  woe, 

Soon  surrounded  by  life's  comforts 
Her  recovery  was  not  slow. 

And  her  son  rejoiced  to  see  her 
Daily  strong  and  stronger  grow. 

Every  morn,  and  every  evening, 

As  the  happy  grateful  pair 
Knelt  in  humble  supplication, 


The    Welcome    Visitor.  125 

Oh  !   believe  that  Joseph  ne'er 
Was  forgotten,  as  their  voices 
Mingled  in  a  fervent  prayer. 


Alms  bestowed  upon  the  poor  man 
To  the  Lord  are  alway  lent, 

Joseph  ever  deemed  his  money 
Had  been  well  and  wisely  spent ; 

Never  did  he  have  occasion 
His  kind  action  to  repent. 


BERTHA'S    BONBONNTERE. 

''  I  "WAS  Christmas-eve,  and  all  Broadway 

-^       Was  full  of  faces  beaming 
With  eager  joy,  and  over  all 
A  flood  of  oras-li2:ht  streamino:. 

Muffled  in  furs  from  head  to  foot. 

The  lauQ^hinor  crowd  was  strivino^ 
Against  the  icy  wind,  around 

The  corners  fiercely  driving. 

Jack  Frost  on  windows  filled  with  gifts, 

With  finger  deft  traced  lightly 
Lace  patterns,  through  which  shone  the  goods 

With  added  lustre  brightly. 


Berthas   Bonboniiiere.  12; 

One  window  more  than  all  the  rest 

Attracted  much  attention, 
In  truth  so  gorgeous  a  display 

Deserves  some  little  mention. 

Behind  a  pane  of  wondrous  size, 

On  satin  soft  reclining, 
Delicious  fruits  from  every  clime  » 

In  crystal  coats  were  shining. 

Bright  boiibonniei'es  of  everv  hue 
Were  grouped  in  stately  splendor, 

Suggesting  luscious  sweets  within, 
And  mottoes  true  and  tender. 

In  candied  sleigh  with  tandem  deer 

Sat  Santa  Claus  so  jolly. 
While  (n-erhead  in  gay  festoons 

Hung  wreaths  of  Christmas  holly. 


128  The    Children  s   Paradise. 

Amid  the  gay  admiring  crowd 

Two  figures  now  advancing 
Paused  in  their  progress  swift,  to  view 

This  vision  so  entrancing. 

Their  well-worn  srarb  with  those  around 

Ah  !  sadly  it  contrasted, 
While  pinched  and  pallid  features  proved 

Too  often  they  had  fasted. 

A  child  of  seven  the  younger  seemed, 
Whose  tresses  long  and  flowing 

About  her  face  the  winter  wind 
In  sportive  mood  was  blowing. 

Excitement  lent  the  hue  of  health 
Until  her  cheek  seemed  burning, 

Her  blue  eyes  sparkled  with  delight 
As  to  the  other  turning, 


I'd  like  tliat  pretty  bonbonniore. 


Berthas   Bonbonniere.  129 

"  Oh  !  dear  Mamma,"  she  gayly  cried, 

In  accents  clear  and  ringing, 
"Just  see  the  toys  old  Santa  Claus 

Behind  his  sleigh  is  bringing ! 

"  I  never  saw  such  lovely  things, 
They  make  my  mouth  quite  water. 

Now  don't  you  think  that  he  can  spare 
One  for  your  little  daughter? 

"I'd  like  that  pretty  bonbonniere^ 
The  white  one  lined  with  cherry, 

If  he  would  only  bring  me  that, 
'Twould  make  me  happy,  very. 

"  I  know  I've  often  heard  you  say, 

This  year  he ^  would  not  visit 
Us  as  he  always  used  to  do. 

But,  dear  Mamma,  why  is  it? 


1 30  The    Children  s   Paradise. 

''  I  have  not  been  a  naughty  girl 
But  very  good,  you've  told  me, 

And  don't  you  know  that  now-a-days 
You  never  have  to  scold  me  ? 

"  I  can't  forget  the  dreadful  time 
When  we  were  almost  sinking 

Far  out  upon  the  ocean,  and 
It  often  sets  me  thinkino;, 

"  How  thankful  I  should  always  be, 
When  there  were  hardly  any 

Poor  little  girls  that  were  not  drowned, 
Where  there  had  been  so  many. 

"  And  though  Papa  we  couldn't  find 

In  this  great  city  cruel, 
And  oftentimes  so  very  much 

We've  wanted  food  and  fuel, 


Berthas   Boiiboiiniere.  131 

"  Still,  I  have  tried  to  do  my  best, 
AlthouQ:h  sometimes  Fm  fearful 

I  may  ha\'e  vexed  you,  when  I  see 
Your  face  so  sad  and  tearful." 

The  mother  pressed  her  darling's  hand, 

And  answered  with  emotion, 
"  Indeed  !  you  never  vex  me,  love. 

So  drive  away  that  notion. 

"  For  when  you  see  me  looking  sad, 

Dear  Bertha,  it  is  only 
Because  I  think  my  little  girl 

Must  often  feel  so  lonely, 

"  Far,  far  away  from  all  her  friends 

And  her  old  home  so  cheerful, 
Ah  !   so  unlike  our  garret  drear, 

No  wonder  that  Fm   tearful ! 


132  The    Children  s   Paradise. 

"  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  sad, 
And  hope  you  will  not  sorrow, 

Should  Santa  Claus  forcjet  to  brinsf 
You  anything  to-morrow." 

Her  little  daughter's  golden  curls 
She  smoothed  with  touch  caressing, 

While  Bertha  eagerly  replied, 
A  secret  sigh  suppressing, 

"  Indeed  \   I'll  try  hard  not  to  mind 

If  Santa  Claus  forget  me, 
Why  should  I  care  as  long  as  I've 

My  own  Mamma  to  pet  me.'" 

A  smile  crept  o'er  the  mother's  face 
The  mournful  lines  erasing, 

As  stooping  low,  and  lovingly 
The  little  one  embracing, 


Berthas   Bonbonni^re.  1 3 

She  said,  "  we'll  buy  some  Christmas  greens 
To  make  the  room  look  cheery, 

Come,  let  us  haste,  your  little  feet 
Will  soon  be  growing  weary." 

"Yes,  dear  Mamma,  I'm  ready  now," 

Said  Bertha,  striving  vainly 
To  hide  the  tears  which  in  her  eyes 

Were  shining  all  too  plainly. 

Then  pausing  not  once  more  to  view 

The  tempting  fruit  forbidden, 
She  turned  away,  and  soon  they  both 

Among  the  crowd  were  hidden. 

Not  long  it  took  to  buy  the  greens, 
Then  home  they  hastened  quickly. 

For  now  a  blinding  storm  of  snow 
Was  falling  fast  and  thickly. 


134  The    Children'' s   Paradise. 

Their  wretched  room  at  last  they  reach 

A  garret  dark  and  dreary, 
No  fire  bright  to  greet  them  there, 

Chilled  through,  worn-out  and  weary. 

'Twas  midnight,  and  the  little  girl 
In  bed  was  soundly  sleeping. 

The  mother,  by  her  darling's  side 
A  lonely  watch  was  keeping. 

Musing  on  happy  hours  gone  by 
When  life  was  sweet  and  sunny. 

Before  she  knew  how  hard  it  was 
To  toil  all  day  for  money. 

"  Yet  I  could  bear  it  all,"  thought  she 
"  With  my  dear  husband  near  me, 

His  loving  presence  would  support 
And  comfort,  aid,  and  cheer  me. 


Berthas   Bonbonniere.  135 

"  Oh  !   how  could  I  have  let  him  cross 

Alone,  the  raging  water, 
And  place  a  barrier  between 

His  helpless  wife  and  daugliter? 

"He  deemed  it  for  the  best,  I  know, 

And  promised  ere  we  parted 
That  very  soon  he'd  send  for  us  : 

Then  left  me  broken-hearted. 

"  For,  ever  ringing  in  my  ear 

A  voice  kept  on  repeating, 
'Misfortunes  dire  will  soon  transpire 

Perchance  there'll  be  no   meeting. ' 

"Again  it  came  when  'round  our  forms 
The  hungry  waves  were  leaping, 

The  roar  of  waters  with  the  wortls 
A  mournful  measure  keeping. 


136  The    Childreiis   Paradise. 

"  But  when  I  felt  that  hope  was  o'er 
And  clasped  my  child  despairing, 

From  such  a  fearful  fate  we  were 
Saved  by  a  sailor  daring, 

"  Oh !  then  my  heart  leaped  high  with  joy 

Now,  all  our  woes  are  over; 
Thankful  I  cried,  nor  in  the  sky 

One  cloud  could  I  discover. 

"  Till  we  had  reached  this  city  huge 

And  spite  of  all  endeavor, 
Could  of  our  loved  one  find  no  trace 

But  parted  seemed  forever. 

"  And  now  I  cannot  e"en  afford 
A  gift  for  Bertha's  stocking;" 

Fast  fell  her  tears,  when  suddenly 
She  heard  a  orentle  knocking-. 


Berthas   Bonbouniere.  137 

Surprised,  she  hastened  to  the  door, 

And  there,  upon  the  landing, 
With  radiant  face,  and  outstretched  arms, 

She  saw  her  husband  standing. 

No  words  can  paint  the  meeting  glad 

So  from  the  task  refraining, 
Haste  we  to  listen  now  while  he 
His  presence  is  explaining. 

"When  first  the  startling  news  I  saw 

About  the  steamer  sinking, 
I  feared  to  read  the  list  of  deaths 

But  like  a  coward  shrinking, 

"  I  waited  a  few  moments  more 
But  oh  !   they  seemed  like  ages. 

Then  glancing  down  beheld  jv;//;'  names 
Stand  out  upon  the   pages. 


138  The    Childreris   Paradise, 

"  What  happened  next,  I  scarcely  know, 

My  brain  was  in  a  fever. 
The  only  words  I  said  were  these, 

'Alas!  why  did  I  leave  her?' 

"  Then  far  away,  I  journeyed  fast 

Nor  left  one  trace  behind  me, 
No  wonder  darling  that  you  failed 

For  weeks  and  months  to  find  me. 

"  Some  days  ago  as  from  a  dream 

At  last  I  did  awaken 
Amon^  kind  strano^ers  who  had  found 

And  pity  on  me  taken. 

"  For  many  weeks  they'd  nursed  me  through 

A  fever  fierce  and  wearing, 
And  ever  in  my  wildest  moods 

Were  tender  and  forbearino;. 


Bertha  s   Bonbonniere.  1 39 

■"  As  soon  as  I  could  stand  alone, 
To  New  York  back  I  staggered, 

And  all  to-day  have  roved  the  streets, 
A  figure,  gaunt  and  haggard. 

"  To-night  as  through  a  window-pane 

I  stood,  so  idly  gazing, 
Half-hidden  by  an  angle  sharp, 

I  saw  a  sight  amazing. 

"  My  wife  and  child  whoni  I  had  thought 
Beneath  the  waves  had  perished, 

Again  I  heard  their  voices  sweet, 
And  saw  their  forms  so  cherished. 

"And  while  I  listened  to  the  tones 

Of  Bertha's  earnest  pleading. 
And  learned  your  past  and  present  woes 

Mv  heart  was  torn  and  blecdinLr. 


I40  The    Children  s   Paradise, 

"  A  quick  resolve  then  shaped  itself 

To  gratify  her  longing, 
So  straightway  in  the  store  I  went 

Where  curious  crowds  were  thronging. 

"  The  prize  secured,  then  with  a  brow 
From  which  all  clouds  were  banished, 

Triumphantly  I  stepped  outside, 
When  lo !  your  forms  had  vanished. 

"  No  time  I  lost  in  vain  regrets. 
But  soon  found  out  your  traces, 

For  none  who  once  had  seen  you  both 
Could  e'er  forget  your  faces. 

"Now  let  me  see  my  little  girl, 

But  no — I  won"t  awake  her, 
ril  wait  till  morning,  then  within 

My  loving  arms  I'll  take  her." 


Berthas   Bonbonniere.  141 

Then  by  the  bed-side  of  their  child, 

The  happy  parents  kneehng 
Offered  a  prayer,  while  down  their  checks 

The  thankful  tears  were  stealing. 

Next  morning  brightly  shone  the  sun, 
And  through  the  window  peeping 

Pried  open  little  Bertha's  lids, 

And  roused  her  from  her  sleeping. 

She  started  up,  while  half  awake, 
And  toward  the  chimney  glancing 

Her  stocking  saw,  then  o'er  the  floor 
Her  feet  went  gayly  dancing. 

Pausing  before  the  fire-place 

She  saw,  oh  sight  surprising  ! 
The  much-desired  boiibouiiitrc 

From  out  the  stocking  rising. 


142  The    Children  s    Paradise. 

"  Oh  !   Santa  Claus  is  good,"  she  cried, 

"I  knew  he'd  not  forget  me. 
And  that  he'd  never  have  the  heart 

On  Christmas  day  to  fret  me." 

She  seized  the  treasure  with  both  hands 
Then  gently  raised  the  cover, 

Unconscious  of  two  faces  fond 
And  eager,  bent  above  her. 

And  there  upon  the  sweets  within 

A  card,  her  vision  meeting 
Contained  these  words,  "Old  Sanca  Claus 

To  Bertha  sends  a  greeting. 

''And  as  he  cannot  come  himself 

Her  Father  acts  as  porter 
To  bring  a  gift  she  well  deserves 

Unto  his  little  daughter." 


Bertha's   Bonbonniere.  143 

Bewildered,  Bertha  raised  her  head 
Thinking  her  eyes  deceived  her, 

And  there  beheld  her  Father's  face  ; 
Her  Father's  arms  received  her. 


THE    OLD    MAN'S    DREAM. 

IV   /TY    form   is   bowed   with    many   years,  and 

-^'^-*-      sunken  is  mine  eye, 

I  feel  within  my  inmost  soul,  erelong  that  I  must 
die. 

For  palsied  limbs,  and  failing  strength  warn  me 
my  race  is  run, 

Perchance  these  aged  eyes  will  ne'er  behold 
another  sun. 

Yet  sometimes  when  my  spirit  is  overborne  with 
care 

Sudden,  there  shines  before  me,  a  scene  of 
beauty  rare. 

Beneath  the  lofty  shade  of  a  mountain's  frown- 
ing Qfaze 


The    Old  Mans   Dream.  145 

There    stands    mv    childhood's    home    where    I 

passed  such  happy  days. 
The   sloping   roof  is   covered  o'er  with   mosses 

fresh  and  green, 
And  'neath  the  eaves  some  swallows'  nests  quite 

plainly  can  be  seen. 
Beside  the  open  door-way  there  stands  a  spread- 
ing beech 
Whose  topmost   bough,  though  all  in  vain,  I've 

oft  essayed  to  reach. 
A  merry  chattering  brooklet  is  running  by  the 

door. 
It  tells  the  self-same  story  that  it  told  long  years 

before. 
I  gaze  within  the  window,  and  there  before  the 

fire 
Can    see    the   stooping   figure  of   my  venerable 

grandsire. 


146  The    Children  s   Paradise. 

It  is  the  hour  of  morning  prayer,  there  kneels 
my  widowed  mother, 

One  loving  arm  is  thrown  around  my  darling 
baby  brother ; 

Dark  robes  of  mourning  clothe  her  form  and  a 
tear  is  in  her  eye 

As  she  be<2:s  the  Sfracious  Father  from  his  2:lori- 
ous  throne  on  high 

To  look  down  upon  her  children  in  their  daily 
walk  through  life. 

And  to  guard  them  from  all  danger,  all  wicked- 
ness and  strife. 

A  joyous  merry  shout  rings  out  upon  the  air, 
It    is    my    little    sister,    who,    free    from    every 

care, 
Is   running  through   the   garden   walks   chasing 

the  butterfly, 


The    Old   Mails    Dream.  147 

Dancing  'neatb  the  happy  sunshine  of  a  cloudless 

summer  sky  ; 
And    now    on    seeing    me    she    eagerly    draws 

near 
And  joyfully  cries  out,  "  do  you  know,  oh  !  Willie 

dear 
That  all  the   seeds  you've  planted  in  the  garden 

have  come  up  ? 
They  are  turning  into  flowers,  so,  I  picked  tliis 

buttercup. 
Let  me  see  if  you  like  butter,  there  I   hold  your 

chin  up,  so  !  " 
And  she  eagerly  applies  the  test  while  standing 

on  tip-toe. 
Then  laughing  merrily  exclaims,  "  oh  dear !   you 

5j:reedv  fellow ! 
Indeed   you   do   like   butter,  why   your    chin's  a 

perfect  yellow. 


148  The    Children's   Paradise, 

Now  come  and  put  me  in  the  swing,  and  please 

to  push  me  high 
Far  up  among  the  tree-tops,  then — let  the   old 

cat  die." 
Smiling,  her  wishes  I  obey,  then  pausing  to  take 

breath, 
Lightly  I  lean  against  the  tree  to  witness  "pus- 

sie's  death  !  " 
Now    far    overhead    the    darling    looks  down  in 

mimic  pride, 
Then  rapidly  descending  sweeps  swiftly  by  my 

side. 
Her  bright  blue  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks  with  joy 

and  health  are  beaming, 
While   unconfined,  upon   the   wind,  her   golden 

curls  are  streaming. 
In  truth  it  is  a  spectacle,  exceeding  fair  to  see^ 
This  pretty  flying  picture  framed  by  the  apple  tree. 


The    Old  Mans   Dream.  149 

Now  slowly  stroll  I  onward,  till  I  reach  a  shady 

dell, 
And  downward  gaze  into  the   depths   of  an  old 

moss-grown  well. 
The  summer  wind  sighs  softly  'mid  the  branches 

overhead 
And  whispers  wondrous  stories  of  heroes  long 

since  dead. 
Again  as  in  my  boyhood  bold  thoughts  I  entertain, 
While    dreams    of   future    glory    reanimate    my 

brain, 
Till  the  golden  summer  hours  slip  all  unheeded 

by 
And    clouds    of  pink    and    purple     suffuse     the 

western  sky. 

With  a  start,  I  awake,  'twas  a  dream,  and  'tis  o'er, 
I  never  shall  gaze  on  my  childhood's  honie  more. 


150  The    Children's   Paradise. 

Every   trace    of    its    presence    has    vanished,   I 

know. 
Consigned  to  oblivion,  long,  long  ago, 
On  the  forms  that  I  cherished  so  fondly,  of  old, 
Cruel  Death  hath  long  since  laid  his  impress  so 

cold, 
Yet  Faith  sooths  my  spirit  and  pointing  on  high 
Whispers   "  mourn  not,  your  loved   ones   you'll 

join  in  the  sky." 


CINDERELLA. 

Dramatis    Person/E. 

Cinderella. 

Malvina. 

lucretia. 

Fairy  Godmother. 

PrIN'CE. 

Herald. 

Page.  ' 

Fooiman. 

Coachman. 

Ladies-in-waiting,  courtiers,  pages,  etc. 


Act  I. 

Scene  I.  represents  an  apartment  with  fire- 
place^ beside  which  is  seated  Cinderella,  two 
sisters  reclining  in  easy  chairs. 

Lucre tia  to  Cinderella,  (iinpatieiitly?) 
Cinderella,  Cinderella,  what  are  you  about  ? 
Pile  fresh  wood  on,  don't  you  see,  the  fire's  go- 
ing out  ?  " 
Cinderella    hurriedly   throzvs   some    sticks   of 
wood  on  fire. 
Malvina,  {angrily^ 
What  a  smoke  you're  raising,  stupid, 


Cinderella.  153 

Do  you  mean  to  choke  us  ? 
Witch-like,  you  evade  our  orders 

With  some  hocus-pocus. 
Cin.,  {imploringly.^ 

Ah  !  indeed,  I  did  not  mean  it. 

Sisters,  do  not  scold  me, 
For  you  know  that  I  have  always 
Done  just  what  you've  told  me. 
Ln. — Stop  that  whining,  take  the  broom 
And  sweep  this  dusty  floor. 

[a  knock  is  heard. 
Ufa  I. — Cinderella,   Cinderella, 
Some  one's  at  the  door. 
Cinderella    drops  broom,   runs  and   opens    the 
door,  admits  page  bearing  invitations. 
Page  {extending  card.') — 

His  royal  highness  invites  you  all 
To  come  to-night  to  a  full  dress  ball. 


154  The    Childi^ens    Paradise. 

Sisters   seize   card,  exit  page,   Lucretia  dances 
aro7ind  the  room  and  exclaims — 
Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear!  what  a  joy  is  this  ; 
My  heart  is  overflowing  with  bHss. 
Mai.,  {clapping  hands) — 
Oh,  dear  !   I  am  almost  wild  with  delight 
What  a  glorious  time  we  will  have  to-night. 
Lii.  {eagerly) — 
Oh  !  tell  me  Malvina,  pray  what  will  you  wear? 

Mai. 
Why  red  and  pink,  with  a  wreath  in  my  hair, 
And  answer  me  quickl}'  Lucretia  dear 
In  what  costume  du  bal,  w'lW  you  appear? 
Lti.  [consequentially^ 

Why  my  grand  brocaded  orange  and  green 
No  handsomer  dress  to-night  will  be  seen  ! 
Mai. 
There  isn't  a  doubt  we'll  outshine  them  all ! 


Cinderella.  155 

Both  {clapping  hands?) 
Hurrah  !   hurrah!   for  the  prince's  ball  ! 
Cinderella  zuJio  has  all  this  time  been  seated  by 
the  Jire  regarding  the  sisters,  exclaims  aside 
mournfutly, 

Alas  !  alas  !  how  I  wish  /  could  go 
'Tis  useless  to  ask  ;   they'll  surely  say  no. 
\_Raising  her  head  she  continues. 
Perhaps  they're  so  happy,  they  may  consent, 
And  their  harshness  to  me  for  a  moment  repent. 

[  To  the  sisters. 
Sisters  may  /go  to  the  ball  ? 
The  invitation  was  for  all. 
L21.  {holding  tip  her  hands  in  amaze tnent.) 

Well  this  beats  all  !  now  did  you  ever  ? 
Mai.  {emphatically.) 

No  I  never !  no  I  never  ! 
Lu.  { indign a n tly. ) 


156  The    Childreiis   Paradise. 

You  go  to  the  ball,  you  ugly  creature ! 
With  cinders  over  every  feature  ! 
Mai.  {derisively.^ 

Pray  what  did  you  think  of  wearing,  Miss ; 
Would  you  go  in  such  a  costume  as  this  ? 
\Points  sco7nif2illy  at  Cinderella's  rags. 
Lm. 

You  saucy  creature,  how  dare  you  ask  ? 
Go  back,  and  finish  your  daily  task. 

\_Exit  sisters  in  great  disgust. 
Cinderella  {begins  to  weep  and  exclaims) — 
Alas  !  alas  !  how  sad  is  my  fate  ! 
I  can  only  be  silent  and  patiently  wait. 
She   raises   her    eyes  pathetically^  tableau^    cur- 
tain falls. 


Act  II. 

Scene  II.  represents  the  dressing-room  of  the 
two  sisters  luho  are  discovered  standing  in 
Jront  of  two  mirrors  placed  opposite  each 
other,  while  Cinderella  is  employed  in  put- 
ting the  finishing  touches  to  their  toilettes. 

Malvina  to  Cinderella. 

Oh  !  you  stupid,  aiukward  girl ! 
How  you've  made  my  ringlets  curl ! 
Lu. 
Come  here  and  fasten  my  necklace,  quick  ! 
Or  I'll  strike  you  surely  with  this  long  stick. 

\shakcs  stick'. 
Ma  I.  ( feremp  to  rily. ) 


158  The    Children  s   Paradise. 

Come  smooth  my  train,  don't  you  hear  me  call  ? 
We  will  surely  be  too  late  for  the  ball  ? 

Lu.  [holding  out  necklace') — 
Cinderella,  here ! 

Mai.  {pointing  to  her  train') — 
Cinderella,  there  ! 

[Cinderella  hesitates,  as  if  uncertain  which 
way  to  turn. 

Lu.  {angrily  ) 
She  really  doesn't  seem  to  understand  or  care  ! 

MaU 

Horrid  !  awkward  !  miserable  dunce  !  !  ! 

Cin.  {tea rfu lly)  — 

Dear  me  !  I  can't  do  everything  at  once  ! 

L21.  {^impatiently.) 
Let's  leave  her  Malvina,  oh  !  come  let  us  go  ! 
For  the  road  it  is  long,  and  the  horses  are  slow. 

[^Exit  Lu. 


Cinderella.  159 

Mai. — I'm  coming.  \Jo  Cinderella. 

Now  see  that  you  shell  all  the  pease, 
Scrub   the    floor,  sift   the   cinders,  get   clown   on 

your  knees.  \^forces  her  down. 

And  beg   pardon  for  giving  your    sisters   such 

sorrow, 
Then  perhaps  we'll  not  beat  you  so  hard  by  to- 
morrow. 
\_Exit  Malvixa,  leaving  CiNDr:Rr-:LLA  in.  tears. 
Cin. 
When  will  my  sorrows  ever  cease? 
They  give  me  not  a  moment's  peace, 
Oh  !  how  I  wish  that  I  could  go  ! 
I  would  enjoy  the  dancing  so  !      [she  ivecps. 

lintcr  fairy  godmother,  disguised  in  cap  and 
gown,  CiNDFiRELLA  screams  and  starts  thith 
in  affright,  godmother  throws  aside  cap  and 


i6o  The    Children  s   Paradise. 

goiun  and  appears  revealed  in  the  dress  of  a 

fairy  qtieeii. 

Godm. 

You  needn't  be  the  least  afraid, 
But  dry  your  tears,  my  little  maid, 
For  I'm  your  godmamma,  my  dear, 
Come  hither  your  sad  heart  to  cheer. 
I've  watched  your  wicked  sisters  too, 
Their  cruelty  they  soon  shall  rue, 
For  know  that  Fm  your  dearest  friend 
And  all  your  sorrows  soon  will  end. 
Now  tell  me  what  you  want  the  most 
You'll  have  it  then  at  any  cost. 

Cin.     Dear  godmamma,  Fd  like  to  go 
Unto  the  ball  to-night  although 
I  have,  alas  !  no  evening  dress. 
These  rags  are  all  that  I  possess. 

\^Points  sorrozufully  to  her  dress. 


Cinderella.  l6i 

Go  dm. 
Fear  not,  your  dress  shall  be  as  grand 
As  an}'  queen's  within  the  land, 
But  then,  my  dear,  a  coach  you'll  need, 
So  to  the  garden  haste  with  speed 
And  bring  a  pumpkin  lying  there 
Of  golden  color,  rich  and  rare. 
\_Exit  Cinderella  who  re-enlcrs  with  pumpkin 
and  places  it  on  iJic  floor  in  viezu  of  audience. 
Godtn.  {luaving  wand.) 

Vanish  pumpkin,  and  approach 
In  thy  stead,  a  gilded  coach. 
\_Pufnpki]i    disappears    and    is    replaced    by 

coach. 
Godm.      Bring  the  mouse-trap,  quickly  now. 
For  we've  not  much  tinie,  I  tr{)\\'. 
\_/Lxil  Clndlkella,  re-enter  wilJi  trap,  places  it  on 

floor. 


1 62  The    CJiildren's   Paradise. 

Godm.  (7vavi?io-  wand^ 

Disappear,  ye  tiny  mice, 
Come  back  ponies,  in  a  trice! 
\Trap    disappears,    enter   ponies    led    by   a 

groom. 
Godm.     Look  behind  the  cellar  door, 
Half  concealed  upon  the  floor 
There  a  rat-trap  you  will  find, 
A  huge  rat  within  (yCinderella  starts^  don't  mind 
You  have  nothing  now  to  fear 
Bring  it  hither,  daughter  dear." 
\_Exit  Cinderella,  re-enter  with  trap,  which  she 
holds  at  arms'  length,  then  places  care/nlty 
on  t lie  floor. 
Godm.     Vanish  rat-trap,  come  instead. 

Coachman  with  a  powdered  head. 
\Trap  disappears,  enter  coachman. 


Cinderella,  163 


Godm.     Close  beside  the  apple  tree 
There  a  lizard  you  will  see, 
Bring  it  hither  with  all  speed 
For  of  that  too,  we'll  have  need. 
\_Exit  Cinderella,  re-e.itcr  with  ivatcriiig-pot 

containing  lizard. 
Godm.  (waving  wand.) 

Disappear,  oh  !  lizard  small 
But  return,  a  footman  tall. 
\lVatci'ing-pot  disappears,  enter  footman. 
Godm. 
And  now  my  dear,  your  dress  I'll  change 
For  certainly  it  would  seem  strange 
Should  you  appear  in  such  a  guise 
To-night  before  the  prince's  eyes. 
[Godm.   waves  luand  when  Cinderella's  sJiabby 
dress   vanishes  and  is   replaced  l>y  an  elegant 
court  costume,  she  still  retains  her  old  shoes. 


164  The    Children  s   Paradise, 

Godm. 

For  each  foot  here's  a  crystal  shoe 
And  now,  my  dear,  I  think  you'll  do. 

\approvingly. 
[Godmother    presents    Cinderella    ivith    shoes 
whicJi  she  hastens  to  don. 
Cin.     O  !  thank  you,  dearest  godmamma, 

You  are  too  good  to  nie,  by  far. 
Godm. 
My  kindness  you  deserve,  my  child, 
For  you  were  ever  good  and  mild. 
But  mind  what  Fve  to  say,  my  dear, 
F"or  should  you  disobey,  I  fear, 
'Twould  vex  you  greatly,  so  take  care 
To  leave  at  twelve  d clock,  nor  dare 
To  stay  a  second  longer,  or 
You'll  wish  to  sink  beneath  the  floor, 
For  ah  !  'twould  give  you  great  distress 


Cinderella.  165 

To  see  old  rags  replace  this  dress. 
Your  gilded  coach  and  retinue 
Would  likewise  vanish  quickly  too. 
And  in  their  stead  there  would  be  found 
Rat,  lizard,  mice,  and  pumpkin  round. 
Come,  to  the  palace  now  repair 
'Tis  fully  time  that  you  were  there. 
[Godmother  leads  Cinderella  to  the  coach  the 
footman  assists  her    to  enter,   then  takes  his 
place  beside  the  coachman  on  the   box,  coach- 
man   cracks    luhip,    Cinderella     leans   for- 
ward and  smilingly  zuaves  an  adieu  ;  curtain 
falls. 


Act   III. 

Scene  III.  represents  a  ball-room  in  the  royal 
palace^  the  prince  is  seated  on  a  throne  at  the 
head  of  the  room,  band  plays  a  march,  knights 
and  ladies  promenade,  the  music  ceases  sud- 
denly, enter  Cinderella,  promenaders  pause 
and  gaze  at  her  with  mingled  curiosity  and 
admiration,  the  prince  starts  up  exclaiming. 

Prince. 
Heavens!  what  an  exquisitely  beautiful  face! 
What    a    marvellous     figure !     what    wonderful 

o^race ! 
[Cinderella  advances  to   the  foot  of  the  throne 
with  dignity,  curtesies  low,  and  says, 


Cinderella.  167 

Cin. 
Great  prince  !  your  gracious  pardon  I  request 
For  coming  here  an  uninvited  guest. 
\T he pjdnce  descends  from  the  throne,  takes  her 
hajid,  kisses  it  with  gallantry  and  replies. 
Prince. 
Mine  is  the  obligation,  beaut}'  bright! 
Accept  my  thanks  for  coming  here  to-night, 

\_Aside. 
She  must  be  a  duchess,  or  princess,  or  queen, 
Ne'er  saw  I  before  a  statelier  mien. 

[  To  Cin. 
Sweet  lady,  may  I  now  demand 
For  the  next  dance,  this  beauteous  hand  ? 
[Cinderella  bows  assent,  the  band  strikes  up  the 
Lancers,   the  set  forms  and  dances.     In  the 
midst  of  the  grand  chain,  the    clock    strikes 
twelve,  Cinderella  at  first  does  not  appear 


1 68  The    Children  s    Paradise. 

to  hear,  then  frighte7ied  attempts  to  wilh- 
drazu,  the  prince  endeavors  to  detain  her,  but 
she  breaks  away  forcibly  J2Lst  at  the  conclud- 
ing stroke,  dropping  her  slipper,  the  prince 
seizes  it,  presses  it  to  his  lips  and  exclaims. 
Prince. 

My  courtiers,  seek  her  far  and  wide 
For  she  alone  shall  be  my  bride. 
\_Consternation  among  the  ladies,  who  all  raise 
their  handkerchiefs  to  their  eyes  ;  grand  tab- 
leau— curtain  falls. 


Act   IV. 

Scene  IV.  The  sisters  and  Cinderella  are 
discovered  at  Jioiie,  the  sisters  lounging  in 
easy  chairs,  Cinderella  bending  over  some 
sewing ;  as  the  cnrtain  rises  the  work  drops 
from  her  hand  and  she  appears  absorbed  in 
a  revery. 

Mai.  to  Cin. 
You  careless  creature,  attend  to  your  work  ! 

Lu. 
She's  aliuays  tryinc;  her  duty  to  shirk  ! 

Mai. 
Oh  !   wasn't  the  l)all  a  errand  affair  ? 

L21.  to  Cin.  {tauntingly  ) 
Ah!   don't  you  wish  that  j'<:>//\/ Ijcen  there? 


lyo  The    Children  s   Paradise. 

Mai. 

I  think  of  the  princess  night  and  day, 
Where  do  you  think  she  came  from,  pray  ? 

Do  you  know,  when  she  entered  the  palace  door 
It  seemed  to  me  I  had  seen  her  before  ? 

Cinderella,  {aside  tremblingly.^ 
Ah  !   should  they  discover  me  what  would  they 

do? 
I  believe  they  would  hangwiQ,  and  quarter  \t\^  too, 
That  would  be  a  fit  end  to  niy  miserable  fate. 
Oh  !  why  was  I  tempted  to  linger  so  late  ? 
\_Enter    herald   bearing  proclamation,  he  reads 
aloud. 
Herald. 
Know  then  ye  ladies,  great  and  small, 
Whoe'er  was  at  the  princess'  ball 
His  highness  has  made  up  his  mind 


Cinderella.  171 

The  owner  of  this  shoe  to  find  {produces  shoe) 
And  whom  the  sHpper  fits,  why  he 
Win  marry  then  most  certainly. 
Ma  I.  (  irnpatieii tly. ) 

Pray  let  my  have  the  shoe,  for  it 
My  slender  foot  will  surely  fit ! 
L21.  [dictatorially) 

Malvina,  let  me  have  it  first 
That  slipper,  j't);^  will  surely  burst! 
Mai. 

For  shame  !  how  can  you  be  so  mean  ? 
Perhaps  j't'/zV  like  to  be  the  queen  ? 
Lm.    Pray  why  not  /,  as  well  2.'^  yoit  ? 

Do  vou  not  hear?   hand  mc  the  shoe  ! 
[  They  struggle  violently  for  the  slipper,  at  last 
Mai.vina  succeeds  in  securing  it  and  endeav- 
ors to  force  it  on-  her  foot,  the  others  look  on 
eagerly  and  anxiously. 


172  The    Children  s   Paradise. 

Mai.  {tugging  azvay.) 
It's  going  on  !  {moicmifully)  oh,  no  !  oh,  no  ! 
It's  all  the  fault  of  that  great  toe  I 

\jtrikes  foot  angrily. 
Lu.  [s? leering ly.) 

Didn't  I  tell  you  so  ?  my  love, 
Hand  me  the  shoe,  ray  precious  dove  f 
[Mal.   throws  shoe  at  her  sister  and   begins   to 
sob.     LucRETiA    strains   aivay  vigorously  at 
putting  on  the  slipper. 
Herald. 

How  red  she's  getting  in  the  face ! 
We'll  have  to  cut  her  corset  lace ! 
Mal.  {spitefully:) 

She'll  have  an  apoplectic  fit,  I  fear, 
Hadn't  you  better  give  it  up,  my  dear? 
Lu.  {triumphantly .)     It's  on  ! 
Herald  and  Mal.     It's  on  ? 


Cinderella.  173 

Cin.     Alas  !  how  I  feel  1 
Lu.  {sorrowfully.^ 

All  but  the  heel! 
Herald  and  Mai.  {laughiiig^ 

All  but  the  heel! 
Lu.  {desperately.^ 

I'll  cut  it  off!  hand  me  a  knife  ! 
Fur  I  will  be  the  prince's  wife  ! 
Herald,  {advances,   wrests  the   slipper  from 
Lu  and  say  si,) 
That  question  Madam,  /'//  decide, 
For  you  are  not  the  riii^litful  bride, 
And  now  I  will  pursue  my  way 
Wishing  you  all  a  pleasant  day. 

rHiCRAi.D  hoivs  and  is  about  to  withdraw,  when 
Cinderella  advances  luith  dignity  and  ad- 
dressts  hi  in  modestly  but  firmly. 


174  '^^^^    Childrejis   Pai^adise, 

Cin. 
My  friend,  you  have  almost  forgotten,  I  fear, 
That  another  lady  was  also  here, 
But  without  making  any  further  ado  . 
Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  hand  me  the  shoe? 

Herald,  {zuith  confusion^ 
Certainly,  Madam,  I  did  not  see, 

\Jie  kneels. 
And  I  crave  your  pardon,  on  bended  knee. 

\Aside. 
Althouoh  she  is  clothed  in  a  ra2:2red  old  dress 
Her  manners  are  regal,  nevertheless! 

[  The  sisters  hold  up  their  hands  in  mute  amaze- 
ment, ivhile  Cinderella  calmly  proceeds  to  try 
on  the  slipper,  ivhich  goes  on  readily.  She 
then  takes  the  mate  from  her  pocket  a7id pnts 
it  on  her  foot,  in  the  meajitime^  the  fairy  god- 


Cinderella.  i  j^ 


mother   enters,  touches  Cin.   with  wand  and 
transfoi'ms  her  into  the  princess  of  the  ball. 

Sisters,  [with  clasped  hands.^ 

Can  I,  can  I  believe  my  eyes  ! 

Herald. 

It  was  the  princess  in  disguise  !  !  ! 

Godm.  to  Ci]i. 
My  pretty  godchild,  I  have  come  to  see 
Your  triumph  over  such  vile  cruelty. 
Your  shameless  sisters,  I  condemn  to  stand 
Beside  your  royal  throne,  on  either  hand, 
To  witness  all  your  glory  and  your  power, 
And  suffer  torture  daily,  hour  by  hour, 
No  punishment  so  great  to  them,  I  ween, 
As  to  behold  their  injured  sister,  queen. 
A  lesson  this  to  tyrants  should  afford. 
Know,  \'irtuc  alway?  meets  its  just  reward. 


176  The    Children  s   Paradise. 

Ctirtain  falls. 
\The  concluding  tableau  represents  the  state 
apartment  of  the  palcice ;  the  prince  and 
Cinderella  are  seated  upon  a  throne,  on 
either  side  of  ivhich  stand  the  tivo  sisters  zvith 
averted  glances  of  eiivy  and  hate  ;  ladies-in- 
waiting,  courtiej's,  pages,  etc.,  complete  the 
picture. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


. — ,.'        30m-7,'70(N8475s8) — C-120 

^1  lYryi  f^^^  iCi^i 


^ 


N^ 


>- 


.^WEUNIVERJ//, 


^^ 


^v^clOSA'JCElfj-y. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACIU-W 


AA    000  416  451 


.^WEUNIVERS-/; 


£^ 


en  S 


v7         ^ 


S5 


^^AlKn  ■  111  i->     irt.VJ 


^•m\% 


L'NIVER% 

.....  JN^    j> 


^ 


